Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown
by Vixen2004
Summary: Yuffie asks but doesn't really want to know. Shelke tells her anyway. A catalogued description of insecurity to insanity, told around two foils and their fabricated penchant for conversation. Dark Comedy.
1. Chapter 1

_Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown_

o-o-o-o

Yuffie asks but doesn't really want to know. Shelke tells her anyway.

A catalogued description of insecurity to insanity, told around two foils and their fabricated penchant for conversation.

o-o-o-o

The path that leads to instability is rarely trod upon, and even less returned to. It's more akin to a one way street that ends in a cul-de-sac of madness – circling 'round and 'round until what you knew and what you know becomes a blur of hazy alcohol fed recollections. The buzz is amped to full volume and the hangover intensified to infinite proportions, comprehendible only to those who have perhaps imbibed lethal doses of liquor, thus rendering the comparison worthless because they're with Aerith now, and that is all that can be said concerning the matter.

"How did it happen?" Yuffie asks, sitting across from the girl in question as the morning sun leaks through the curtain and dapples onto the floor in a waltzing display of shadow and light.

Shelke has to think about this one. She can predict much, but this inquiry is uncalled for.

"Gradually. And then suddenly." There is a stagnant pause between the two. "Is that what you refer to as irony?"

Yuffie smiles. "Close enough."

o-o-o-o

The first thing Shelke noticed was that Azul The Cerulean possessed a magnificently ornate chrome plated crotch. (It was in her direct line of vision; she couldn't help it.)

o-o-o-o

"Ew."

"How could one not take heed of such things?"

"Easy, Robo Drone. Close your eyes. Maybe that's why they turn funny colors."

"No, that is because of the mako."

"Nu-uh."

"Yes. Indeed."

Yuffie can't think of a more plausible argument at the moment, so instead she opts to go with the deft repetition of 'nu-uh!' only more emphatic this time.

o-o-o-o

The second thing noted was that Nero was severely gagged by medical adhesive. Yet he still possessed the ability to communicate – something Shelke never figured out.

o-o-o-o

"It seemed rather…futile."

"You mean pointless?"

"I believe I just indicated that."

"English, please," Yuffie partitions, for this is the language she prefers.

For the first time, the ninja bears witness to a smirk tugging at the corners of Shelke's mouth.

"Why? Do you not speak Wutai?"

At this, the poser is graced with the wide open gape of Yuffie Karasagi's unhinged jaw.

"Oh my gods! Did you just make a funny?"

"A funny? Do you mean a joke?"

"Yeah."

The smirk returns, this time broader and more evident.

"English, please."

o-o-o-o

The third was Rosso's unyielding affinity with anything of the crimson variety. "Like blood, yes?" she had helpfully offered. Shelke just squeaked, for she was only nine.

o-o-o-o

"Can you squeak for me now?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Request denied. Please refrain from interrupting."

o-o-o-o

And finally – fourthly – Weiss was prone to wildly gesticulating with his hands – more comparable to claws than anything else.

o-o-o-o

"Vinnie has a claw."

"I am aware of that."

"He doesn't gesticulate."

"He doesn't have to. The gun gesticulates for him."

"I think the gun _ejaculates_ for him."

o-o-o-o

Ultimately – they were not always what they were destined to become – mindless assassins involved in the endless pursuit to quench an indefinite, insatiable bloodlust. They slowly evolved into that, true, but the process took time. Years. Before such nefarious tendencies were implanted – there were moments that could almost be described as tender. Shelke fearing the omnipresence of the dark, for example, and retreating to Azul's bunk for comfort. "Floor," he had directed, seeing her pale and mute at his threshold. "And no talking."

o-o-o-o

"Or squeaking, right?"

"I would appreciate it if you refrained from referring to that time and time again."

"I can't help it. It's like and addiction. Like you and your mako."

"Do not compare my necessity for mako to your juvenile proclivities of childish banter."

"Again I say: English, please. Are you deaf or something?"

o-o-o-o

Even Rosso, in all her slaughtering glory, did not always have a penchant for killing all things that retained a pulse. She had a pet for some time – an escaped mutant lab rat, to be exact – and cared for it dearly until the fateful eve arrived where she determined it would be more pleasant to smother it as opposed to feed it.

o-o-o-o

"Is that how she made that fur skirt she was always whoring around in?"

"You can not procure enough fur from a mere lab rat to suffice the entirety of that robe."

"I was being facetious."

There is a slight pause in repertoire.

"I do not understand."

"Never mind."

The pause returns once more.

"She did take to wearing its shrunken head on a necklace for awhile, though. Perhaps she harbored some latent guilt for terminating the creature's life."

"That's a funny way to show remorse."

"Remorse is meant to be funny?"

o-o-o-o

Nero had trouble adjusting to his wings, a feat highly understandable, for Shelke herself had trouble coping with the residual exhaustion that the neural synaptic net dives left in their wake. The tightly bound man would bump into every stationary object before finally honing in on his stealth like dexterity. He tripped a lot, too. And he had a great difficulty getting back up. Azul was usually the one nominated to help him, since Shelke was too weak and Rosso lacked the required interest to actually care. Weiss advocated tough love and learning for yourself. Thus Azul was always left to pick up the pieces – literally, sometimes, say when Shelke malfunctioned in her terminal – and play big brother for all. It was a feat he preformed without complaint for some five years until the day came when he simply stopped caring and took to only looking after himself. It was a transition that would have stung a lot more had the rest of the group not have gone numb and actually retained feelings of humanity. But they did not – so it was of no great loss, viewed more as an inconvenience than a treachery.

o-o-o-o

"He had a twin," Shelke offers, interrupting herself for the first time. "I wonder if he still resides among us."

"Why? Do you miss gawking at his chrome plated crotch?"

Here Shelke interjects a labored sigh.

"Such things were inevitable, Yuffie. You'd be forced to take heed, too, had you stood adjacent to him."

"Nah," she dismisses with a careless flick of the wrist. "I would have _so_ looked at his shoes."

o-o-o-o

Rosso's stilettos were painful atrocities, and this Shelke could personally vouch for, since she had experienced their torture first hand. She was around thirteen – perhaps, it can not be certain, for birthdays were not celebrated among Tsviets; first kills, however, were – and she had managed to abscond away with her comrade's very dangerous footwear, for she was tired of being vertically challenged.

o-o-o-o

"You ever miss having boobs?"

"To miss them would imply I once possessed them in the first place."

"Hm. Good point."

o-o-o-o

Rosso found out, no doubt. And she proved to have even less control of herself than Nero when wandering barefoot through the dismal halls of Deep Ground. Nero actually laughed at this – ostensibly before all his emotion was eradicated – and this only stoked Rosso's wrath further. (It should be noted it was not long after that she smothered the lab rat.)

o-o-o-o

"Did she ever name it?"

"I believe so."

Yuffie waits expectantly.

"Well?" she prompts.

Shelke stares.

"You gonna share?"

"Share what?" she asks.

"The name, dummy."

"You did not inquire as to the name – only if it had one."

"Well, it was implied."

Again, more blank stares.

"What was?"

"_The name_."

"I cease to understand."

"Never mind. Just continue. I wanna know what happens next. We can work on your retarded social skills later."

o-o-o-o

Shelke had been beaten before – for in addition to brain washing, physical elimination of feeling must also be considered ("Ohmigosh – what are you going to do on your wedding night?!" Shelke balks. "Sleep – I presume.") So Rosso's consequential thrashing was of little importance to the young teenager. Mostly she just felt defeated – for she could not conquer high heels with the same grace and poise that Rosso inherently had. Even Azul – who she expects ratted her out, though who _else_ would steal a pair of stilettos? – commented on the spectacle. Shelke had once again sought refuge in his room, as always (though now it was merely due to habit as opposed to affection) and he proceeded to gawf at her from his bunk, his raucous laughter creating a cacophony loud enough in volume to alert the elusive Nero of the proceedings – who then bore witness to a stumbling Rosso and joined in the mockery.

o-o-o-o

"In a really, really twisted way, this sounds kind of endearing. But hurry up – I wanna get to the part where she kicks your ass."

o-o-o-o

There is not much to be told concerning the following beating. It was typical – albeit mitigated, for they had only been part of Deep Ground for four years instead of ten – and if the former had happened more recently Shelke would most likely had not survived due to severe head trauma or massive internal hemorrhaging. ("Or maybe she's just pull out your wires during one of your computer rapes.") Nero put an end to it when he felt as though Shelke had taken enough. Rosso was ready to go at it all day – or night, whichever it was, for they could never be certain – and had Azul carry the girl's limp body back to her room. "Stick to sneakers," he sparingly offered, and Shelke had taken his advice to heart. Her feet hurt more than any other part of her body – in spite of the previous beating.

o-o-o-o

"Aw, how cute! You wear sneakers because of Azul!"

"No, I wear sneakers because they are more practical. Though I do fear they make me look like a nine year old sometimes."

"It's not just the sneakers, Shelkie, trust me."

o-o-o-o

As their deterioration progressed – and oxymoron to be sure, yet at the same time the ultimate goal – the hallmark moments prevailed, but not in the same abundant quantity and with more time interspersed in between. One that continues to stick out in Shelke's mind is when Nero kindly offered his services as toilet guard when Shelke received Mako Poisoning due to an accidental (or perhaps not) over dose and spent the next five rotations becoming personally acquainted with the porcelain in her bathroom. Nero took up temporary residency in the tub – his eccentricities all but lost on her by this point – and tried to ameliorate the procession of stomach cramps with macabre fairy tales from his twisted mind. Shelke did not find this helpful in any way, shape, or form, but did not voice such for fear of another beating – and also, she favored the company, for Azul was becoming more and more solitary and blocking off the sanctuary of his room in all cases save for those of dire emergency. And Mako Poisoning did not warrant the classification of 'dire emergency' in his book. (However, when Weiss found out Shelke overslept the next morning due to an atypically brutal synaptic dive beforehand, the giant creature opened his doors and permitted the tremulous girl to hide in his closet – for Rosso's torture was but a joke when compared to the cruelties Weiss was notorious for dishing out on a near daily basis.)

"And when the prince went to kiss the sleeping maiden, he was shot in the back by the jealous brother of said fair maiden, who then proceeded to violate her slumbering body in a release of a very laborious, incestuous love affair."

"Gross," Shelke offered.

"Why? She was none the wiser. I find it quite comical, actually."

o-o-o-o

"Oh, gods, ew. Shelkie – stop. It burns."

"What does?"

"My brain. My brain is on fire."

"Would you like me to cast Wateraga?"

"No amount of Wateraga is going to help erase this mental image. Quick – tell me something else before I kill myself in a fit of post traumatic stress."

"Very well."

o-o-o-o

Azul once wanted to confront Weiss on his virginity given his obsession with the color white. Rosso thought this was a bad idea, but once Azul informed her she would not be involved, she agreed one hundred percent. Promise of a potential blood bath was always enticing. As long as it did not involve her blood.

"You moronic fool," Nero admonished. "Do you not favor being alive?"

This sparked a heated debate between Shelke and Nero over the concept of being alive, and if they technically could be defined as such. In the end, Nero won, for it was determined they were still engaged in the process on inhaling oxygen, a trait of all living things, and therefore Shelke was rendered the loser. She glared, making her eyes turn orange for effect. Whether this proved to be amusing for Nero was never evident, for little could be gleaned from his facial features when they were swathed in a plethora of bandages.

"It looks as though you raided a first aid kit," Shelke dripped condescendingly.

"And you don a metal bra. What is your point, child?"

The altercation ended with that.

o-o-o-o

"Dude, I kinda want to date Nero now. Is that wrong?"

"I thought you did not favor him."

"I didn't particularly like that fairy tale he pulled out of his ass, but the metal bra line was a keeper. Did he usually come up with that kind of stuff?"

"…I try not to remember. He tended to be rather disparaging."

"Well, alright, but so am I."

"Yes, but you are not a Tsviet."

"So?"

Shelke tries to think of a favorable way to word this, but she has not practice in the latter and finds doing such rather difficult.

"I am not scared of you."

"Hey! I'll come over there and bitch slap you again! Twice this time! Maybe three times, if you really, really piss me off!"

"…Again, I say: I am not scared of you."

She receives a kick in the shins. It does not hurt.

o-o-o-o

The only conversation Weiss and Shelke ever had was concerning wires. It was nondescript and quite mundane, for Shelke already knew everything he was bestowing upon her, but dared not inform him of that. Thus she resorted to staring at his abdomen, again falling victim to her hazardous line of vision, and tuned out everything that was dribbling from his mouth. She may have looked nine years old, but she now had the mental capacity of a seventeen aged woman, and such aesthetics she found rather pleasing. (Azul's crotch was still a disturbing sight to bare witness to, however. No amount of hormones could ever do away with that.)

o-o-o-o

"You slut. Gawking at southern real estate like a salivating hooker."

"I did not drool, if that is what you are … implying."

"Hey, good job! You learned something today!"

"…I believe I learned my limit of putting up with you."

"What? Thirty minutes?"

"Give or take."

"So is that all for today?"

"I believe so. You are beginning to wane on my ears."

"Sorry 'bout that. Vinnie says the same thing."

"His mental acuity is very favorable."

"Yeah. Whatever. Like I know what that means."

"…It means he is right."

Yuffie sighs, eyes twinkling, corners of her mouth at a dangerously high level.

"Hey, before you go, can I ask you one more question?"

"I suppose."

"…Do you have a crush on Vinnie?"

Silence.

"I plug into machines. Not men."

And that is all she says.

o-o-o-o

To Be Continued

o-o-o-o

Author's Notes

o-o-o-o

This is liable for updates. I had way too much fun writing it. I suppose this could be viewed as a collection of Shelke Traumatizes Yuffie Through Various Conversations And Recollections. But that's not a genre, so I had to place is under drama/comedy. (I was aiming for dark comedy, by the way, but fanfiction dot net ceases to pick up on the fact that such is a genre I advocate for quite frequently, thus I was forced to resort to other classifications instead.)

I understand I have a lot of projects going on, but bare with me. I plan on finishing them all before I die. (Whether or not the feat will happen before _you_ die is the question. XD)

o-o-o-o

Dedicated To The Gregarious Reader Chick

With Much Love

o-o-o-o

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

_Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown_

_Conversations Continued_

o-o-o-o

Shelke is trying to figure out this nonsense called coffee.

Used to her mako enhancement – and finding she no longer needs it – the girl discovers she doesn't quite know what to do with herself. In the refulgent hours of the morning, Shelke could be typically found confined to a tube of verdant substance, dependant on the fumes for survival. Now that she has so much free time on her hands, the former Tsviet is at an utter loss.

Vincent suggested coffee.

(Cid had recommended beer, but Tifa admonished him for advocating such before noon.)

So here she sits, staring at the brown contents that circumnavigate her cup, tentatively risking a sip and finding the entire concept of imbibing liquid comparable to defecated remains highly repulsive.

She discreetly spits the beverage back into the mug, hoping nobody noticed.

"I saw that," an all too familiar voice announces from the doorway.

Shelke does not have to turn around to know who she is now required to converse with.

"Yuffie."

"Yes. That would be me. Glad to know you don't need flashcards or something way lame to memorize all our names. Though, admittedly, Red XIII threw me for a loop when I first met him. Cloud was easy to remember, though."

Shelke nods.

"You are rather unforgettable."

"Aw, Shelkie-pooh! That's got to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!"

Yuffie croons as she takes up her resident seating arrangement across from her polar opposite.

"I was implying something along the lines of infamous, which is not exactly a compliment."

"Yeah. Well. Whatever."

Shelke's subtlety is lost upon her.

"Can I ask you more questions today?"

"…Why?"

"'Cuz, like, I dunno. It's fun?"

Shelke continues to stare hard at her coffee.

"Will you ingest this coffee for me if I oblige?"

Yuffie blinks.

"Dude, nobody is forcing you to drink that crap. That would be, like, coffee rape or something."

"Tifa gave it to me," Shelke explains, continuing to observe the liquid, as if it may metamorphosize into something palatable. "I wish not to offend her."

"…Tifa burns crap all the time. I always let her know when she makes something inedible."

"Perhaps this is why she does not particularly favor you."

"Honesty is the best policy, Shelkster. You need to learn these things."

"I believe most beings utilize a thing called tact."

"Not me," Yuffie chirps. "What the hell does tact ever get you? Nada, that's what."

She then takes hold of Shelke's coffee mug and slides it across the table.

"But, being the nice ninja that I just so naturally happen to be, I'll take this coffee off your hands, so long as you agree to converse with me."

Here Yuffie plasters on a smile of mirth, and Shelke wonders if she is meant to imitate it, or simply acknowledge the gesture with a nod.

"Very well."

"Boo yeah," Yuffie exhales, downing the coffee in three strong gulps for emphasis. "I'm caffeinated now, Shelkie. You're really in for it. Hope you don't regret it."

"That happens to be one emotion I'm familiar with." She pauses. "More so, after this morning."

"Oh, shut up. I'm your reason to wake up."

Shelke doesn't bother to mention she's not sure why she continues to wake up in the morning. (Though, in retrospect, she wonders if she should have, for perhaps Yuffie could have offered some simplistic insight that could be construed into something meaningful, even unintentionally.)

"Okay. Question numero uno," Yuffie begins, wiping the residue coffee away from her mouth with a swipe of the hand. "Why were all you Tsviets named after sections of the color wheel?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The color fetish," Yuffie elaborates. "Explain it to me."

"I do not know the answer to that phenomenon," Shelke admits, though she is thinking about it, now that such is brought to her attention. "Hojo did not strike me as one for aesthetics."

o-o-o-o

Truth be told, Rosso did not mind her color association. In fact, she arrived baring the resemblance, and perhaps that is where it all originated from. Azul did have blue hair, and Nero naturally possessed the abilities to control darkness, and Weiss – for whatever reason, sexual or not – seemed quite placate with his whiteness fetish. That left Shelke The Transparent without a color and ostensibly without a name, for she was never assigned a hue and was simply referred to as such due to her ability to disappear without warning. In the beginning, Rosso had mentioned something of the orange variety, given her hair, but Nero reprimanded it, saying it made her sound more like a piece of citrus than a cold blooded assassin.

o-o-o-o

Yuffie has disintegrated into peals of laughter on the tile floor.

"Shelke The Citrus – ohmigods – Shelke, can I call you that from now on? Please?"

"I will terminate your very existence."

Yuffie can not reply, for she is preoccupied groping the air for breath.

"Then again, I may not have to," Shelke dimly notes. "Given the fact you are currently asphyxiating."

"Oh, that was _priceless_," the ninja proceeds to blabber, dabbing stray tears that are leaking from her eyes as she resumes her previous position on the bench. "Okay. Okay. I'm good now. Next question."

Shelke waits expectantly. There is little else she can do.

"Your weapons," Yuffie commences, regaining composure. "You have to tell me the story behind your weapons."

"Mine?" Shelke queries.

"No. Not yours. Yours are boring. You got beaten by a frickin' fire extinguisher, how lame is that?"

"I prefer to think I was defeated by Vincent, thank you very much."

"Yeah. Well. He _shot_ the fire extinguisher, but not important. What I'm getting at here is Weiss."

Shelke instinctually grimaces. She does not have fond memories of Weiss' weapons.

"It was _so_ obvious they were phallic symbols!"

"Excuse me?"

"Those gun blade thingies. They were, like, semiautomatic dildos. How can you take someone like that seriously?"

Shelke wants to ask if Yuffie has ever been at the receiving end of a semiautomatic dildo – but something inside of her says that question will come out wrong.

"I'm not familiar with the term dildo."

"You don't have to be. Just know he looked like a lame ass."

"…I believe I already specified his ass was quite pleasing."

"Please," Yuffie petitions. "Don't say that again. I can't take it. Not coming from you."

(Though she doesn't know who else had access to his ass, aside from Vincent, and to hear him admit such would be indefinitely worse.)

"And, um, Azul? What was that thing he was totting around?"

"A 457-678 Experimental Cannon."

"Right. That tells me something right there. Compensation, anyone?"

Shelke is beginning to wish she had drank the coffee.

Or, at the very least, not have given it to Yuffie.

She seemed ten times more audacious when given the right chemical enhancement.

"Not if his chrome plated crotch was any indicator."

Yuffie chokes on herself, apparently not expecting this response.

"Shelke, I'm beginning to think you're kind of a pervert."

"You are the one referencing semiautomatic dildos," Shelke responds, even though she is not certain what a dildo, exactly, is. It sounds profane, and it is coming from Yuffie, so it most likely is.

o-o-o-o

Once, after spending an extended amount of time with Nero, Shelke could not help but take heed of his rather unique choice of dress. And she is not merely referring to his affinity with ace bandages, either. He seemed to sport eye liner and nail polish, something Shelke was unfamiliar with at the time. She spent nineteen years of her life faultily assuming in was of the norm for humans of the male persuasion to promote the donning of facial decoration, and was baffled to see Vincent lacked the aforementioned.

One day, or night, or afternoon, or evening – time is irrelevant, as it always was – Shelke managed to procure a black sharpie from some unknown realm in Deep Ground, and decided to paint her nails to match his.

o-o-o-o

"How _old_ were you when you did this?"

"Sixteen. Allegedly." Shelke pauses after delivering this answer. "Are sixteen year olds not supposed to pine for lacquered fingertips? Rosso had them."

"Dude – don't got emo fag on me, Shelkster. Don't turn into Cloud."

"Cloud is … homosexual?"

"Debatable."

Shelke ponders the character of this man in question for quite some time.

"We have not held many verbal transactions – Cloud and I."

"Well, no surprise there. He doesn't hold verbal _transactions_ with anybody – 'cept for himself on special occasions. Oh, and by the way, don't use the word transaction like that in a sentence. It makes you sounds like his hooker or something."

"Cloud associates with hookers?"

"Again: debatable."

A silence of some great length bequeaths itself upon them.

"Male or female?"

There is another momentary pause, before both girls arrive at the same conclusion and voice in unison: "Debatable."

o-o-o-o

Nero got tied up a lot.

"I am contemplating becoming the spokesperson for S&M," he announced one day, early on in their mental sabotage, when he still possessed some warped sense of humor only few understood and even fewer appreciated.

"What's that?" Shelke had questioned, still young and naïve and the epitome of all that was right in the world.

"Skittles and Motrin," Azul took it upon himself to demur, parental tendencies still running strong through his veins.

Shelke nodded acceptingly. "I like Skittles," she offered.

(Rosso, on the other hand, could be heard in the background accosting Nero concerning the logistics of volunteering to aid in such a campaign. Needless to say, Nero declined.)

o-o-o-o

"What? Declined? Why? I want me some kinky Deep Ground down and dirty sex here!"

Shelke sighs, watching Yuffie's laced up leg bounce around wildly beneath the table. She keeps kicking her in the shins, but it is futile to say anything.

"That would require my observation in order to retell it."

"Well. Who says you weren't the one participating?"

"I believe that is grounds for pedophilia," Shelke notes, devoid of emotion.

"Never stopped Vinnie and me."

Silence.

"Ha ha! Got you there! Didn't I? _Didn't I?_"

"I prefer to remain silent concerning this matter."

"Aw, Shelke! You're no fun!"

Another kick in the shins. This time Shelke is pretty sure it was intentional.

o-o-o-o

Hojo taught Shelke about the birds and the bees through an elaborate demonstration involving the strategic placing of test tubes, beakers, and various other scientific apparatus normally not usually intended to educate young, impressionable fifteen year old girls. (As to why he decided to pursue this course of action in the first place remains a mystery.)

The dissertation was peppered with obscure euphemisms like, 'the man then places his Bunsen Burner into the women's open vestibule and increases the intensity of the flame in accordance to her requirements.'

o-o-o-o

"He just put the hopeless in hopeless romantic."

"Perhaps that was his intent."

"Makes you wonder how Lucrecia could repress her gag reflex long enough to sleep with him."

"I try not to picture such things."

"Ya know what's even worse?"

Shelke senses Yuffie is being rhetorical, which is the nature of most of her questions.

"Barret," the brunette supplies. "And Tifa. _In_ _costumes_."

At this, Shelke is rendered momentarily speechless.

"I've never witnessed any evidence of a … Bunsen Burner … between those two."

"There's not. But try to think about it and tell me it doesn't burn. Um, no pun intended."

"…What is the point in that?"

"Amusement. Dude – how did you _occupy_ yourself in those mako tubes for so long?"

"Counting," Shelke answers honestly. "Backwards. From one hundred. In various increments."

"And this is why you're still a virgin."

o-o-o-o

Azul had an unhealthy infatuation with the word _penetrate_.

It was always in reference to his shield, of course, but still. After the Hojo Fiasco Of Sexual Education 101 – Shelke could not help but wonder if this, too, could be applied as a euphemism.

o-o-o-o

"Ha ha ha ha!" Yuffie croaks, fist pounding the table. "Azul got stabbed by his own cannon! Penile impalement – for the win!"

Shelke settles on not saying anything.

But then she quickly changes her mind.

(At least after the incessant table punching has died down.)

"Apparently his chrome plating could have been put to good use elsewhere."

Yuffie's eyes grow as huge as saucers.

"Ohmigods! Another funny!"

"…I try."

o-o-o-o

Shelke quickly learned to despise the color of neon blue.

It covered everything – her hands, her body, and her comrades' bodies.

It was a constant reminder of her dependency on mako and the prison she currently found herself in.

She'd look in the mirror and hate herself for having blue eyes – desperately wishing they were of the brown or hazel variety – anything but blue. (Sometimes, she was thankful they turned orange, if only out of juvenile spite.)

"The sky. It is blue. Apparently."

Shelke remembers looking at Rosso when she described such to her.

"I doubt that."

Rosso, who had not yet turned to her automatic response of slaughtering all that oppose her, looked quizzically at Shelke.

"How could something so beautiful be blue?"

"I do not understand, Young One."

Shelke didn't bother to explain. Words were not her forte. And neither were emotions.

o-o-o-o

"So they were like your school colors or something. Black and blue. Like a giant bruise."

"I guess you could relate it to such."

"Quick, what was your mascot?"

Shelke's nose scrunches up as she tries to recall what a mascot is. Surprisingly, she is able to conjure up this recollection and simply replies, "Fluffy."

"Fluffy? Who the hell if Fluffy?"

"Rosso's decapitated lab rat."

"…She named it Fluffy?"

"I did not ask."

o-o-o-o

Hojo deemed food an overrated commodity, and said masticating wasted too much precious time ("There ain't no way in hell masturbating is _ever_ a waste of time," Cid can be heard orating from the hallway, still in his wife beater, cigarette characteristically drooping from his lips. He sees the two girls engaged in conversation, to which Yuffie replies, "Um, excuse me, bonding moment here?" and immediately leaves.) In the stead of meat and salad and vegetables, the Tsviets (and everyone else involved in Deep Ground, for that matter) were allotted diet pills, which contained all the necessary nutrients to maintain survival, and some to enhance, but only required about three seconds to swallow, as opposed to the half an hour usually given for lunch break among normal organizations. ("You should have sued.")

o-o-o-o

"There was talk of breeding us, once."

Why Shelke was willingly volunteering this information she'll never know. Perhaps Yuffie is beginning to grow on her. But more like a mold as opposed to a friend.

"Holy Shiva – does Yuffie actually get her kinky Deep Ground sex?"

Yes. Definitely mold.

"No – it was to involve artificial insemination. That's how one reproduces Deep Ground style. Hojo deemed it more efficient."

"Hm. That may explain why Sephiroth was an only child."

"Then how does one explain Kadaj?"

Shelke may not have been present for such things, but she was privy to them, thanks to hours spent being lectured by Cid after he spent some quality time with the bottle.

"Well, he didn't come from Lucrecia's vag, that's for certain. How does someone give birth inside a crystal, anyway?"

"How does one _conceive_ inside a crystal?"

Yuffie smirks, proud and irreverent, both defining characteristic for her.

"I swear – two more years and you'll be ready for stand up, Shelkie."

"…I prefer to sit."

"Okay. So be a maverick. Start a trend. Sit Down Comedy. Whatever."

"I do not aspire to garner laughs."

"You do it without trying," Yuffie informs her breakfast companion. "Just reiterate your sexual introduction. That's bound to make a mint. Can I be your agent?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty, pretty, pretty please?"

"No. No, and no."

"Lame ass."

Shelke thinks back on her time spent in Deep Ground and responds with a resounding, "Wutai Flea," of which she stole from Rosso.

o-o-o-o

Shelke stole lots of things from Rosso, actually, and not just her stilettos. She even tried to imitate her accent once – in the privacy of her room, of course – but Azul overheard her and she was then the unfortunate recipient of unprecedented amounts of guttural laughter.

(No one ever attempted to imitate Shelke because she hardly spoke. Refraining from conversation was the closest one could get – aside from adding a monotone drawl to whatever did happen to flow from her mouth.)

She was known, however, to abandon the pretense of this characteristic (the silence, not the monotony) when arguing with Nero, however. For some reason, he was always able to elicit a response from the girl – no matter how unfavorable – possibly because she did not hold such tight reign over her tongue while in his presence – for he rarely issued her a beating. He preferred to agitate her with his tightly bound mouth – and oxymoron not lost on her. Of course, when he happened to lose whatever debate was currently at hand (again; another oxymoron) – which rarely took place, thus the extreme response – he did lash out quite dramatically. But the two were so practiced in sparring no one ever really sustained any injuries.

o-o-o-o

"Is this the equivalent to Deep Ground flirtation?"

"No. This is the equivalent to Deep Ground conversation."

"Oh."

o-o-o-o

Nero did manage to clip Shelke's shoulder once, what with his demon wing artillery, and she had to lie in the infirmary for a day or so. It should be noted he took to sulking around more than usual that day – but he was the master of darkness as it was – so general brooding was viewed as a side effect more so than a guilty conscious.

o-o-o-o

"Did he come visit you?"

"Affirmative."

"…Well? Did you have magical healing hospital sex or what?"

"He proceeded to berate me on my severe lack of dexterity for a good thirty minutes."

"I thought you couldn't tell time."

"I can not. I counted."

"What _is_ it with you and binary, woman?" Pause. "And I use that term loosely."

"We are of the same age, you and I. Surely you are aware of this."

"Yeah, 'cept I didn't receive my sex ed from _Hojo_, thank you very much, or have mutant emo fags shooting me in the arm."

"Technically speaking, it _was_ my fault."

"Here, on Gaia, that's ground for domestic abuse. You were involved in an abusive relationship, Shelkie. Remember, admitting the problem is the first step to recovery."

"Why bother? All my relationships were abusive."

"Ah." Yuffie thinks for a moment (a rare feat, to be certain.) "Good point."

"Just Nero the least so."

"What about Azul?"

"He grew exceedingly testy after year five or so."

"Hm. Yeah. Nothing to penetrate, I guess." The caffeinated ninja twirls her hair piece around an index. "They should have had mandatory field trips to the Midgar Brothels – ya know – release some of that pent up aggression. Then maybe you guys wouldn't have beaten on _each other_ so much."

"That would require us leaving Deep Ground. Which we were not allowed to do. Thus rendering Rosso and I the only viable … vestibules within the vicinity."

"Rosso was not viable. Ever. Which leaves you. In all your nine year old glory." Yuffie contemplated this. "Yeah. The guys would have definitely benefited from some brothel outings. No doubt about it. Maybe that's Vinnie's problem. Must be hard to go solo with that claw."

"Go solo?"

"Never mind. Ask Hojo when you get to the Life Stream. I'm sure he'll be happy to tell you."

"I do not wish to converse with him ever again."

"Well, I guess that's alright. Any man would be willing to speak about going solo – trust me."

"_I_ do not wish to speak about it."

"Who says there has to be speaking? Hojo seemed fond of demonstrations…"

That last line goes right over Shelke's citrus colored head.

o-o-o-o

Rosso claims she once had a significant other, and they were apparently betrothed. Shelke didn't understand the wording of the sentence, but it as just as well, for it would have made her cry to know that Rosso was torn from her former lover in the same way Shelke was torn from her former sister.

"They'll save us," Shelke had assured, still waiting for her age to enter the double digit realm.

"Surely you jest," Rosso had replied. "They have no reason do such."

"'Course they do. They love us. Remember?"

"I try not to."

o-o-o-o

"You regret anything, Shelke?"

Shelke seems taken aback by the sudden sincerity laced within Yuffie's usual jovial tone. She is also avoiding eye contact. Two things that do not compute.

"I regret a great many things, Miss Kisaragi. But that is another conversation for another day."

Yuffie's eyes brighten, her demeanor returning to that of its normal aplomb.

"…Are you saying there'll be more conversations?"

"Until they can find a way to permanently inflict Silence upon you, I don't see why not."

Yuffie, grinning maniacally, returns the coffee mug to its rightful owner.

"Can I hug you?"

"Refrain from contact, please."

Shelke pauses, bearing witness to Yuffie's attempt at puppy dog eyes (which fail miserably, by the way. They cease to work on the emotionally in tune, let alone the emotionally inept. Gods only know why she continues the feat.) "My condolences for having you ingest the coffee."

"You make it sound like a funeral."

"You never know what will kill you."

"Who taught you that one? Nero? Weiss? Hojo when he was in one of his pontificating moods?"

"No. I came up with that one on my own."

"You should write a book, Shelkie. A big, ol', fat book. Like the kind they keep preserved in shrines and stuff. We have some stashed away in Wutai."

"…The art of manual composition is _so_ archaic."

If it weren't for her characteristic vocabulary, the emphases would have almost made her sound like a normal teenager.

Perhaps Yuffie is having more influence than she would like to believe.

o-o-o-o

Author's Notes

o-o-o-o

This chapter leant itself much more readily to the realm of comedy instead of macabre. Possibly because I caffeinated Yuffie. Have no fear – however – I have all intentions of making the next chapter slightly darker. (Of course, Yuffie will still prevail, and you can't get too angsty with her on board.) Maybe next time I'll saturate the duo in alcohol and antihistamines – see what happens.

o-o-o-o

As always, dedicated to the ever faithful Read**ING** Chick.

(Heck, leave it to me to dedicate a story to someone and then spell their screen name wrong. Was tempted to continue the misspelling, very tempted, but decided not to.)

As a side note: said Read**ING** Chick drew fan art for the first chapter. It's pretty much awe inspiring. The link is at the bottom of my profile, under the words Trash Talk, and you should all click on said link from said girl because I said so.

(How's _that_ for alliteration?)

Oh, and by the way, dearie, I attempted to throw some Shelkero in there for you. Don't know if you picked up on that or not.

(Oh please, who am I kidding?)

o-o-o-o

Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown_

_Conversations Continued_

o-o-o-o

Shelke is eyeing the pill suspiciously – in between casting furtive glances at Yuffie's beaming, toothy visage – and she can not determine which one frightens her more.

"Think of it as a Hojo Vitamin," she offers, dousing her tea bag periodically into her cup. (After last week's exchange, Shelke took it upon herself to ban Yuffie from drinking anything stronger than mineral water – under threat of solitary confinement during breakfast hours. She had contemplated throwing her lasers in for effect but figured that may not end so well.)

Yuffie – never one for orders, only compromises – suggested, well, resorted to – herbal tea, and they left it at that.

"Why do you wish for me to take this pill? Are we preparing for battle?"

"Um, no-oo," Yuffie drawls, tying knots in her tea string that would be considered sacrilege to sailors everywhere. "I just think it'll make you feel better, is all."

"A mood enhancer?"

"Um. Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

No Doz could be classified as a mood enhancer, couldn't it?

The coffee may have been a bust, but Yuffie was determined to get her peer caffeinated one way or another.

And what Yuffie wants, Yuffie gets.

Which is why little persuasion was necessary to procure said pills from Vincent.

"Aw, come _on_ Vinnie! It'll really help her! I'm on the verge of a break through here!"

Vincent had regarded his former companion silently.

"I am not a walking apothecary, Yuffie."

"You may as well be – what with all that _crap_ Hojo shot you up with."

"…Wutai Flea," he had taken to muttering. Shelke had unknowingly started a trend.

"Hojo Junkie," the teenager shot back. "Pills. Now. Whaddya got? I'll use Materia if I have to."

"Please do not cast Hastaga on Shelke – she's already swift enough as it is."

"It's ultimately up to you, ya know."

Vincent hissed through his teeth. He hated ultimatums.

"What is it you require?"

"Stimulants! Legal – preferably. She's got this mega thing against coffee – how _else_ am I supposed to make her more out going?"

"…I have No Doz," Vincent supplied, devoid of emotion. He was not keen on the idea of tampering with Shelke's already precarious mental state.

However, he had taken heed of the great lengths she had come socially since spending her mornings with Yuffie. (After all, the ninja could prove to be dimly amusing.) So he was not completely against the idea.

"No Doz? _That's it?_ Vinnie, I'm disappointed in you!"

"Well what did you expect?"

It's not like he ran around searching for external highs – that would prove redundant to his typical demeanor.

"Something loaded in Cerberus, perhaps?"

"…Those are tranquilizers, Yuffie. Why would I wish to stimulate my enemy?"

"Ya know – you and Shelke? You sound alike sometimes. It's kinda creepy, no offense."

"None taken."

"…You think _you're_ secretly related to Shalua as well?"

"No. I do not."

Yuffie paused, hints of a storm cloud passing behind her eyes.

"How's she doing, by the way?"

"Better."

And that was all Vincent would say.

Yuffie didn't press the matter. She knew when to shut up.

(She just chose to ignore such intuition at times. Most times.)

However – now was not one of those times.

"Anyway. The pills."

"Yes. Remind me why I'm aiding and abetting you again?"

"Bonding Time!" Yuffie all but shrieked. "Duh! We need to take the next step in our very platonic, non lesbian relationship!"

Vincent winced at the mental imagery.

"…Just take the pills and leave me in peace, please."

Well, at least he was courteous in his solitude. Shelke would be more apt to say, 'I'd prefer it if you refrained from speaking in my general direction – ever again.'

"What? One? _One pill?_ What is this crap, Vincent Valentine? I demand an explanation for this absurd bullshit!"

"…She's ninety pounds," he dead panned. "I carried her."

"Well…well…so? What are you, a pharmacist now?"

"I'm not getting anything for my charity, may I remind you."

"Which is why it's called _charity_, you dumb ass. Besides, you'll get me to leave you alone. Isn't that incentive enough?"

"…But you always come back."

Yuffie had no ready excuse for that one.

Right as she was turning around to she leave – she paused – and Vincent's heavy heart sank further into his complacent gut.

"Wait a sec," the girl began, back turned and poised on one foot. She whirled around in a dizzying display of purple and yellow. "What are _you_ doing with No Doz? I thought you _slept_ in that coffin for sixty some years!"

Pause.

"I had trouble waking back up."

o-o-o-o

Shelke continues to stare absent mindedly (which is how she stared at most things while taking part in Deep Ground) at the drug in question.

"May I at least inquire as to what, exactly, this pill is?"

"No."

It is then that Yuffie witnesses a painful contortion on Shelke's usually porcelain, wrinkle free brow. Memories from Hojo's lab, most likely.

"No Doz," Yuffie acquiesces, unhappy about the confession, but not without heart.

Besides, Shelke won't know what No Doz is anyway.

"May I also inquire as to what it does?"

"Um. Mood enhancer," Yuffie retorts quickly, trying to mimic Shelke's scientific vernacular. "Fun stuff. Don't worry, it's perfectly legal. Just gives you a kick in the ass. That's all."

Shelke balks.

"I do not wish to be kicked in the posterior."

…How could someone so smart be so stupid? So scarred be so innocent? So desensitized yet so sheltered?

It was disturbing, if one thought about it long enough. Yuffie did not want to.

She really did just want to help.

"Like, ya know how mineral water has minerals?"

Shelke's eyes blink in rapid succession, trying to mentally gauge where this is going.

"Hence the name," she replies.

"Well, yeah – I _know_ that, dummy. But it's like that. It just…helps you feel better and stuff."

"I am not accustomed to feeling much at all."

"Which is why you should listen to me!" Yuffie yelps victoriously, assuming the battle is already won. "Now open up and show me some tongue!"

Shelke, unwittingly, obeys and sticks her tongue out.

Yuffie is momentarily dumbfounded, a state she does not find herself in often.

(Shelke is clandestinely trying not to smile – for she is aware of her literal interpretation – and is aiming for a reaction. Maybe feeling happy really isn't that bad after all.)

But Yuffie is unaware of this – and feels the sudden urge to almost, well, cry – thinking this is only further evidence of Shelke's butchered upbringing.

"Okie Dokie then!" she sings, hiding all proof of this momentary lapse of reason. "Down the gullet it goes!"

Yuffie then snatches Shelke's tongue between her index and thumb and pries the girl's jaw open with her free hand. In goes the pill, and down follows the water.

Shelke sputters a little but manages not to choke.

Thirty seconds pass by.

(Yuffie's random tongue yanking spectacle goes uncommented upon, for Shelke is growing used to these inexplicable outbursts.)

"I cease to feel the effects of this No Doz."

"Well you have to give it time to digest, moron." Yuffie leans in over her half empty tea cup. "You _do_ still have a stomach, don't you?"

"…So I've been told."

Yuffie grimaces. "Um. Ew? You had to depend on Hojo's word as to whether or not you still possessed your internal body organs?"

"I had to depend on your word just now, Miss Kisaragi."

"Yeah. But I'm different. I'm awesome."

"…And humble."

"Damn straight I am!"

The corners of Shelke's mouth twitch slightly, almost as if she is trying to repress a ghost of a smirk. Perhaps she is beginning to understand this thing called irony – for Yuffie seems quite fond of it – thus she is exposed to such situations daily.

"Now. Where should we start today?"

Shelke is beginning to fiddle with the plastic bendy straw Yuffie had inserted in her typical glass of water. She claimed they were 'way fun' to play with. Shelke is now attempting such. This was a very good sign.

"Tell me what it's like to go mental skinny dipping."

The fiddling stops.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Synaptic Mental Brain Diving Whatever," Yuffie elaborates. "That thing you do when you jump inside other people's heads."

Shelke reverts back to fiddling with the straw.

"Not fun," she answers.

"But – it must have been cool to be able to, like, mind rape whoever you wanted. Can you take a peek inside Cloud's skull and see if he has a crush on me? Please? I'll pay you. Name your price. I've got gil coming out of my ass."

Shelke's head snaps up.

"Not literally," Yuffie sighs, rolling her eyes. "Figure of speech. We haven't reached that lesson yet. Maybe next week."

"…Synaptic Net Diving is highly hazardous and not the least bit enjoyable. I participated in such against my will and under threat of execution."

Yuffie gnaws her lip, feeling slightly uncomfortable again, but reminds herself Shelke's got No Doz pumping through her system and should lighten up any time now. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

"You ever, like, find something out you wish you hadn't? Or look for something you kind of knew you shouldn't have but did anyway?"

"I was usually supervised."

"Oh." Pause. "Every single time?"

Shelke heaves a sigh.

"I could not remain in that state long, and it left me quite drained, thus I did not look forward to these excursions and rarely considering executing them for enjoyment." More fiddling of the bendy straw. "Crushes are of little consequence in Deep Ground. Such trivial things did not interest me back that."

"But do they now?"

Shelke pokes at an ice cube. She watches it bobble in her beverage like a misplaced buoy.

"I would like to take a peek inside your brain," she admits, still fascinated by the concept of the bouncing ice cube. "See if there's anything in there besides hollow space."

"The No Doz is working!" Yuffie exclaims, disregarding the fact that she was just insulted. (She's grown used to it.)

"…It is?"

"You're making more funnies!"

"But I was being serious."

Yuffie rubs her temples in an exaggerated, melodramatic fashion.

"Ya know, Shelkie, you could just _ask_ people these things. Look at all the stuff I ask you!"

"…But I do not aspire to agitate everyone."

"Piffft – I don't agitate _everyone_."

"I beg to differ."

Yuffie attempts a glare, but Shelke kind of holds the award for epic glaring. Yuffie can't make her eyes change color.

"Tell me about your first time," the ninja demands. "Mental skinny dipping, I mean. Not, like, sex or something."

"What is it with you and intercourse?"

"It's how we all got here!" Yuffie chirps. "Stuff goes up, stuff goes in, stuff comes out, and then you get a baby!"

"…Thank you for that summary."

"That was the Cliff Notes version. I can go into more detail if you want me to."

"That is perfectly alright. I'd prefer to converse about Net Dives."

"Really?"

Shelke stops fiddling with the straw and corresponding ice cubes.

"Hell. At least I understand Net Dives."

o-o-o-o

The first Dive took place when Shelke was nine – and it was a disaster. Azul, still maintaining his fatherly aspects, had begged Weiss not to put the girl through this, but The Immaculate claimed he was under direct orders from his superior to exploit the child's abilities.

"I do not favor this course of action, either," Weiss admitted, for they all still viewed Shelke as their mutual younger sibling at this point. They were but a mere six months into their mental abandonment. "But what else would you have me do?"

Shelke was blissfully fiddling with the wires that lay amidst her personal terminal, trying to make a bow out of the white plug and the red one. Rosso was lending aid in this endeavor, but her pointed nails kept getting in the way. This made Shelke giggle uncontrollably, which provoked nothing more than a vehement glare from Rosso at this point. (Ten years later, though, and Shelke would have been disemboweled. Of course, ten years later, Shelke will have forgotten how to laugh.)

"Transparent One," Weiss dictated from his perch on a random cargo box. He had not gained access to his throne yet. "Are you ready for your first Deep Ground adventure?"

"No," she answered honestly. "I want to go home."

"That wasn't an option," Azul commented.

Rosso stopped trying to tie bows. She knew what was coming. They all did. Nero had already excused himself from their presence. He was locked in a room (which, unbeknownst to him at the time, he would later be confined to against his will when his dark powers began to manifest past Hojo's control; but as for now, he was simply there voluntarily so Shelke could have someone to mentally connect to) not too far down the hall. As the three Tsviets stepped back, Shelke begrudgingly allowed Weiss to place a helmet five times too large on the top of her citrus colored head.

"I don't like this!" she whined. "It's too heavy!"

"I could hold the top – "

"You can not touch her, Azul."

He glared at Weiss but said nothing further.

"It's dark in here," Shelke continued to blather, voice shakier than she would have liked to admit. "I don't like the dark. Can somebody hold my hand?"

"No."

"You do not have to be so curt with her," Rosso muttered, arms crossed over her ample chest. "She is scared."

"As am I," Weiss admitted. "My brother is at risk too, you know."

They did.

"Reiterate what I told you this morning," the white haired man commanded, taking his place at the main control panel.

"Um…" Shelke faltered. "I go in and retrieve data from Nero, right?"

"Yes. How."

"I enter his being on a subconscious plane of reality. And then I defragment his mind."

"For…?"

"For five minutes," Shelke asserted. "Otherwise I die."

The room fell silent. Shelke did not seem to grasp the concept of how dangerous a feat she was about to perform. She was more concerned about the weight of the helmet.

"I'm getting a headache," she commented. "Can we hurry this up? I want my breakfast pills."

"Why? They don't taste any good," Rosso muttered. She missed the luxury of food – apparently she liked to cook before being brought to Deep Ground.

"I am going to commence the count down, Shelke." Weiss readied some nondescript interface that was reflecting light off of his shirtless body. "Are you ready?"

"Um. No. I have to go to the bathroom."

Azul sighed.

"Hold it," Weiss ordered. "That's an order."

o-o-o-o

"Dude, what if you pissed in an alternate reality? What's that like?"

"I would not know, Yuffie. I crossed my legs."

"You're so boring. I would have tried it just for the hell of it."

o-o-o-o

"Synaptic Net Dive commencing in three, two, one … "

What information Nero was retaining on Shelke's behalf was never discovered, for upon the commencement of The Dive she began to convulse uncontrollably and fell to the floor in a heap of wires and electronic debris.

o-o-o-o

"You had a virtual seizure?"

"…I had not yet received enough mako to counteract the physical demands of a Dive."

"Hm. Well. Interesting. Continue."

Shelke's nose scrunches up. "I'd rather not, if that's alright with you."

Yuffie pauses. She wants to say, 'no, that's _not_ alright with me,' but can see this retelling is beginning to wane on her partner.

"I miss them," Shelke states abruptly.

"Who? The people who used to beat on you daily?"

"That's just it. They were just that once: people."

Yuffie stops to clear her throat, trying to buy herself some time.

"Well, they weren't when we killed them."

"Yuffie. They were dead long before then."

o-o-o-o

The second time Shelke refrained from wetting herself but still fell victim to a vicious conniption fit and had to rely on her three comrades to talk her out of their alternate reality.

This time Nero knew something was awry when he did not receive his mental sabotage within the designated five minute time slot.

He returned to the room, figuring The Dive was all but aborted at this point, and took it upon himself to retrieve Shelke from her torment.

"Don't _touch_ her," Azul ordered, pacing frantically back and forth. "No one can touch her."

"Why would I want to?" Nero replied, thinking his former comment quite clever, but no one was in the mood to laugh. Not with Shelke frothing on the floor.

He knelt down next to her, which was easy for him, given the fact he spent most of his time falling and tripping and becoming personally acquainted with the granite of Deep Ground. He had yet to grow fond of his bondage and medical adhesive.

"Shelke, listen to me."

She continued to tremble as though Weiss was frying her with every watt in the computer system.

"Shelke, I do not have time for this nonsense. Either you return to us so we can take you to the infirmary or I shall confiscate your breakfast pills and force you to wear this ridiculously heavy helmet for the rest of your miserable little life."

Whether it was due to Weiss's vicious tinkering with the computer interface, or Nero's endearing words, the world shall never know. Shelke returned to their dimension soon after, and Nero kept true to his word in carrying her to the infirmary.

Well. He would have had he had any arms.

o-o-o-o

"So Nero was always an ass."

"That was just his personality."

"Uh-huh. Making excuses, I see."

"No – I do not make excuses. Excuses were never allowed. Not in Deep Ground."

Yuffie notices Shelke is now bouncing her gigantic monstrosity of a shoe under the table. Another good sign. Maybe she'd continue with her chronological retelling without further prodding. Yuffie wanted to petition Wutai to build a shrine to the gods of No Doz. Perhaps chisel the product label into the side of Du Chi.

"So. Um. What was inside Nero's head once you did manage to squeeze inside his skull?"

"Much more than was left after year ten."

Yuffie pauses.

"…So you did find more than you bargained for."

"Unfortunately."

o-o-o-o

Desensitization takes time. Whether or not it takes less time with juveniles who are still impressionable, or adults who are already severely resentful over being taken against one's will, has yet to be determined (and most likely never will.)

Shelke grew up knowing little else except the atrocities that were committed in Deep Ground.

The others almost gave up their sanity willingly after so many years, if only to dim the pain of their remembrance.

They sought outlets for their anguish, and were allowed but one. Obey.

And to obey was to kill.

Which was of little consequence to them – even though the ones they really wanted to kill were the ones they were being forced to obey.

Slaughtering, decapitating, shooting, impaling, disemboweling … it did not matter, so long as they had something tangible to apply their wrath to.

Shelke had no wrath to call upon, which may have been what saved her in the end.

She had recollections of her sister, who she fervently believed would rescue her, despite all logic and attempted persuasions to think otherwise, and instead of becoming vengeful at such a early age, she simply reverted to becoming numb.

Computers offered solace because computers were incapable of hurting her. In the beginning they drained the life from her being, and perhaps the primary lethargy that came with the forced Net Dives are what initiated her monotony. But while the others were busy sating blood lust, Shelke was trying to gain control and dominance over machines, which, in turn, aside from offering no pain, also offered no emotion. And as the others slowly lost themselves to insanity, Shelke sank only further into recluse, simply to dim the anguish of loosing her comrades as well.

She had always assumed they'd at least have each other.

She sees now it was a foolish way of thinking.

o-o-o-o

Shelke stops her monologue momentarily to chew on a couple of left over ice cubes. She has already drained her glass of its contents, and upon the vigorous devouring of frozen chunks of ice, starts to twist the bendy straw into all odd shapes and contortions.

Yuffie can do little more than wait for more.

She, for once, is at a loss for words.

o-o-o-o

The second year wasn't too bad. They were now all issued their appropriate places and corresponding gear – Nero his darkness, Shelke her computers, Azul his cannon, and Rosso her cross blade of doom (and only gods know what Weiss was up to at this point) – but they had yet to grow comfortable with their newly allotted sectors, which made for interesting Dinner Pill discussion.

"Shelke, what are you doing?"

Rosso had begun to pick up a condescending tone whenever referencing the resident Net Diver, and Shelke's innate response was to simply ignore it.

"Breaking my dinner pill in half," she grumbled stubbornly, struggling with this feat. Her anorexic extremities offered little as far as snapping a pill in two was concerned.

"Allow me. It will be like snapping a bone."

All eyes turned to Azul. He had taken up an affinity to bone crushing. Anything that made a remote noise upon being demolished seemed to appeal to him.

Shelke pouted at her lack of lethal power – but really, she was only ten, what did she expect? – when everyone else was capable of massacring hordes of practice fiends and unfavored Shinra members, she was only able to sit back and watch.

(Of course later she would gain access to her twin lasers, but that weapon had yet to be bestowed upon her.)

Azul silently broke the pill in half and handed it over to its rightful owner.

"Disappointing. Only but a small noise."

"It's a pill," Nero grumbled, who did not ingest pills, but rather relied on injections for supplementary nourishment. "What did you expect?"

"Why are you breaking it in two to begin with?" Rosso repeated, looking down her nose as Shelke stuck one half on her tongue and unwittingly crossed her eyes to look at it.

"Be-chaus I whant id to lh-ast lh-onger."

She had not yet swallowed her dinner. It remained displayed on her tongue for all to see.

"Someone decipher what she said," Rosso demanded, in a curt mood, which would soon become the norm. "I do not speak child."

"She wants it to last longer," Azul translated. "Shelke is trying to avoid her next Net Dive as long as possible."

"Nu-uh!" she parried, gulping half of her supper dry. "I just want to maximize my free time! Ten minutes is not long enough!"

"You do not warrant a recess in Deep Ground," Nero said, almost sounding bemused. "Play time is over, Shelke. Time to go back to work."

"You get paid for work," Azul muttered. "This is slave labor."

"Then make is pleasurable, yes?"

They all looked at Rosso.

She made a good point.

o-o-o-o

"Ya want another No Doz?" Yuffie blurts, knowing how to jump on an opportunity when she sees one. "Because, like, if you enjoyed swallowing pills that much, I'm sure Vinnie's got a whole bottle lodged somewhere in the emo cape of his."

"…I'm actually beginning to enjoy food again, so I am afraid I must decline your offer."

"Dammit."

And here Yuffie was thinking she could caffeinate Shelke right through the ceiling.

o-o-o-o

The years skipped by without much memorable excitement – at least, none which Shelke deemed worthy of retelling (Yuffie suspects there was something going on with Nero she is not being open about – regardless of the caffeine – but doesn't want to interrupt Shelke's train of thought, even if Yuffie is, in her own words, 'a total and complete sucker for anything remotely romantic – even eye sex.')

Shelke made a side comment about their wardrobe design, and how each had to somehow manage to incorporate neon blue lengths of mako into their raiment, but Yuffie was not all that interested in their choice of dress. Save for Rosso's. That was somewhat interesting.

o-o-o-o

"She insisted upon this metal plating," Shelke mutters, scrunching up her ski slope nose and looking out the window – uncharacteristically distracted by some wayward ban of unruly children looking to strike up mayhem. Maybe she wanted to join them.

"Oh, that metal uterus she wore?"

"Affirmative."

"What _is_ it with you guys and protecting your genitals?"

"…You have obviously never been targeted between the legs."

Yuffie smirks, opens her mouth, starts to say something, but is then cut off.

"By something _other_ than a Bunsen Burner."

Yuffie clamps her pie hole shut.

"You take the fun out of everything," she mutters pettily. "Oh well, I'll add another tally to my Shelke Funnies For The Month."

To prove her point, she pulls a notebook out of her back pocket and scribbles down a line while Shelke is busy refilling her glass with enough water to blow bubbles.

Yuffie wonders if she should add a tally for that, too, but ultimately decides to keep the list strictly for verbal funnies. Nonverbal ones were too debatable. Everything Shelke did was in some strange way amusing – intentional or not. Thus, she returned the notebook to its pocket and leaned forward on her elbows, eagerly awaiting more.

o-o-o-o

The first time Shelke was beaten she was not expecting it – for it came from what she thought to be a trusted source, though in retrospect, she sees how ridiculous such assumptions were.

Rosso had managed to actually break a bone during training one day, and was confined to the infirmary for a little longer than a week – something that would be unheard of around their time of departure, but their mako levels at that point were still somewhat waning, though growing stronger by the day.

When the newly mended woman emerged from her seclusion, Shelke overheard Azul making a joke about the weight Rosso must have gained laying in bed all day, doing nothing but eating bon-bons and watching episodes of Droid Demolition on the screen tops (in reality, she was subject to daily experiments and an endless surge of mako to quicken the healing process, but he chose to ignore such things and concentrate on the hilarity of his own retelling.)

"She may very well appear to be pregnant now," Nero exhaled, though it was muted by his mouth piece.

Shelke, being thirteen, and therefore at the stage in every girl's life where it is obligatory to love all babies and toddlers and little children in general, longed for this apparent newborn in a way she could not adequately describe. Now she would have someone to play with! Someone to keep her company! Someone to sit in the computer lab and converse with while the others practiced and honed their fighting skills!

Not privy to the concept of intercourse (Hojo's lecture had yet to be received) she immediately ran down the halls – darted, more specifically, for she was learning to run faster and faster everyday, and this incident marked the first hints that she would perhaps one day be a valuable asset in battle – to Rosso's quarters and barged in without even so much as knocking.

"Boy or girl?" she asked breathlessly.

"Excuse me?" Rosso arched and already arched eyebrow. It was half way to her hair line by now.

"The baby," Shelke continued to pant, for she had not mastered the art of darting around at the speed of sound yet. "Your baby! Is it gonna be a boy or a girl?"

She never got her answer.

Only a very harsh slap across the face.

And one would think, what with all the reckless endangerment and killing and slaughtering Rosso was prone to, this first act of abuse upon another comrade would be carried out with nonchalance, but instead a look of fear crept across The Crimson's face when she stood back to survey the damage she had just inflicted upon Shelke, who was now cradling the side of her head with both hands, eyes tearing up against her will.

Rosso stuttered – for the first and last time of her life – and said in a voice more tremulous than Shelke could ever remember, "Get out."

She didn't scream, she didn't yell, and she didn't even hiss.

She simply demanded. And Shelked obliged.

From that day on, Rosso never made eye contact with Shelke again.

o-o-o-o

"Well, that's not so hard to do. You're, like, what, two feet off the ground?"

"Four and a half!" Shelke shouts indignantly, punching the table.

"Ohmigosh – I _so_ love No Doz. This should become a regular thing! Like, just think, if you ever get your period, you may actually show emotion once every month!"

Shelke does not comprehend.

"PMS," Yuffie offers. "What? Was that not covered in Hojo's Sex Ed?"

"…No."

"Never mind then. Continue. I, for once, do not mind not being the center of attention. I think you left off at year, um, what was it, four?"

"Ah. Yes. That was the year Nero developed his infatuation with body art."

"And what was with that?" Yuffie contemplated out loud. "Why did he bother tattooing himself when his arms were covered by a straight jacket half the time anyway?"

"Ball point pen."

"Excuse me?"

"Ball. Point. Pen." Still no change in Yuffie's facial features. "Year four," Shelke recites, as if dolling out events from a timeline placed within the confines of a history textbook. "Sharpie year five. Ink year six. Though I, too, cease to comprehend the logic behind the feat."

Yuffie mauls this over for a moment in her mind, finally realizing what Shelke was trying to get at.

"Was he a leftie or a righty?"

"Hm?" Shelke is now fiddling with the stray ends of her bangs. "These need to be attended to," she notes. After she finishes up dissecting her hair, she turns her attention back to her partner. "What was that again, Yuffie?"

Yuffie is busy marking down another tally in her notebook.

"Huh? Oh, right, Nero. Leftie or righty?"

"Why is that of importance?"

"Well, think about it. If he was a _righty_, someone would have to ink in his right arm, and if he was a _leftie_, someone would have to ink in his left arm. Follow?"

"I was nominated to execute the deed."

Yuffie recycles her smirk.

"Under threat of disembowelment," Shelke quickly adds, so as not to have the moment seem sentimental.

"Aw. How dysfunctional. Tell me more."

o-o-o-o

Fluffy met his demise around year seven – his life span totally a whopping three years (which is considerable, seeing as though Rosso had slaughtered fifty percent of all her acquaintances within the last half decade.)

o-o-o-o

"Ya know what I think happened?"

"No, I do not, Yuffie Kisaragi. I am not a mind reader."

"Ha! No, you're not a mind reader, Shelke. You just hop into people's skulls and play with their memories."

"I require a terminal to do such things," she breathes, trying unsuccessfully to blow stray bangs out of her eyes. "Surely you know this."

"Yeah. Well. Whatever. Back to what I was saying: I'm beginning to think Rosso was breeding Fluffy and killing off all the babies – hence how she made that fur cape of hers."

"By smothering Fluffy's off spring?"

"Yeah," Yuffie says, with a nod of conviction. "Totally."

"…She would require a female Fluffy to accomplish such things."

"For the smothering?"

"No, for the off spring."

"Maybe she stole one. Like, out of the lab or something. Then killed them all to hide the evidence. And further her fashion sense. Am I right or am I right?"

"There is no safe way to answer that."

o-o-o-o

The eye liner was introduced around year eight – when they had all settled into their realms of allotted madness.

"Nero is dressing in drag again," Rosso would announce for all who cared to listen.

"His garments are that of the usual variety – I see nothing different," Azul noted, quickly glancing over the man in question.

"The eye liner?" Rosso suggested, pointing a polished finger into Nero's direct line of vision. He momentarily wondered if she was going to attempt to gouge his ringed eyes out. She did not seem to favor this new façade, and what Rosso did not favor, she usually eliminated.

"Guy liner," Nero huffed emphatically. "Guy liner. Not eye liner. Guy liner."

Azul merely shrugged. This did not interest him.

"Drag Fag," Rosso hissed, and with a swooping motion of her alleged Fluffy Cape, sauntered off to go and take a bath, most likely in blood.

o-o-o-o

"Though how he managed to apply such gender bending cosmetics without free reign of his hands remains a mystery."

Yuffie slurps a third of her tea. "What? You didn't just put it on for him?"

Shelke glares.

o-o-o-o

Mastering the Protect Materia became a necessity at this point – for Shelke was still without a weapon and naught to her defense save for her skill with computers (and a running habit that had only intensified since its first display upon hearing about the impeding birth of a baby.)

Azul – this being of the last fatherly motion he ever bestowed upon her – had granted her such one evening after she had undergone a severe beating from Weiss himself. (Who, it should be noted, went loony before all of them, consequently leaving Nero quite depressed and probably why he took up with the color black more readily than he had to.)

o-o-o-o

"You think Nero had the hots for his brother?"

"…Hojo did not explain the logistics of that…"

"Dude, I'll take my sex however I can get it. Homosexual Incest may be the closest thing you guys had in Deep Ground."

"…He didn't explain the logistics of that, either."

"I'm beginning to think _I_ could give you a better sexual education. Hojo left out all the good stuff. Anyway. Continue. And stop messing with your hair. It's getting annoying."

o-o-o-o

Ironically enough, and unbeknownst to him at the time, Azul would have the very same gifted Materia used against him at some later point. But to be fair – he was trying to kill Shelke after all – so she really did have every right to turn his own shield lust against him.

Shelke, needless to say, was infatuated with her new toy, which did not involve wires of any kind, and therefore was something new (and shiny) for her to play with. The Protect Materia kept her occupied until twin laser swords were finally bequeathed unto her during her final years in Deep Ground. Once granted a weapon of her own, she became obsessed with her daily training exercises, so eager was she to be let out of the computer room, and quickly became a sizeable opponent on the battlefield.

o-o-o-o

"I say you stick with the Protect Materia, personally. Your weapons suck. A tidal wave could knock you out."

"They do, admittedly, have their weaknesses," Shelke concurs. "But has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I could simply out run said tidal wave?"

"Well, we're humble now, aren't we?"

"…I believe I learned from the best."

"Damn straight you did!"

Again, Shelke finds herself beginning to pick up on the irony of the situation.

"Besides," Yuffie begins in a hushed whisper. "You can't tell anybody this, but I'm not so good with Protect. You, on the other hand, seem pretty nifty with it."

"It's all I had," Shelke says simply.

Shelke has taken up a pass time of throwing crumpled up napkins into the waste bin across the room. Every time she misses she hisses something out in a foreign language, one Yuffie can't quite place her sticky little finger on, all she knows is it's not Wutai and supposes its best left at that. Tsviet Swearing could be a language all on its own.

"Ya know, if you think about it, Protect is kinda cool, though. It's like casting one big condom over your entire party." Yuffie snorts at her own imagery. "I have _so_ gotta try saying that in battle someday. Yuffie Casts Condom-aga!"

Shelke, taking a break from aiming at the waste basket, smirks outright this time.

"Good luck finding a willing partner."

o-o-o-o

And when all is said and done – in spite of the fact she now possessed enough mako to participate in serious Net Dives, enough speed and agility to out fight even Nero in all his dexterity, enough mastery of Protect Materia to avoid any further beatings from Rosso, and two new weapons to call her very own – she still found herself lacking the most important thing that she now knew she would never be granted: her sister.

She doesn't remember when she stopped hoping – perhaps it was around the same time she stopped feeling – though she can't remember when that milestone took place, either. For all of then, their hopes seemed to die gradually. Ten years is a large amount of time to recollect – and who's to say when she woke up one day simply not caring?

She was now nineteen and condemned to be the very thing Yuffie was trying to save her from. But it never occurred to her that her sister was still out there trying to save her as well. Shelke tried to even forget her name – but that proved futile, for she could eradicate other's memories, just not her own. Net Diving was a skill only she possessed, and was incapable of performing such on one's self. Not to say the idea didn't enter her mind – but frying her own brain, this time without the aid or care of her other team mates – did not seem like a plausible option. Perhaps a grandiose suicide – and maybe that's where it would have eventually led, if she had not her new toys to play with.

But on the flip side of suicide – should that not work – was a life damned to insanity, and Shelke still found small pleasures here and there. Occasionally a tid bit of conversation would pass between the Tsviets, hints of the verbal exchanges they held back in the earlier weeks of their abduction, and she'd find herself not smiling on the outside, but feeling fulfilled enough to keep existing just one more day – to see if, perhaps, the next day would hold some small reminder of their first years in Deep Ground.

It wasn't a lot, but it was enough.

In the end, they had all tried to kill her. But ultimately, they were her reason for staying alive.

o-o-o-o

"And so I fought," Shelke continues as Yuffie sits across from her, rapt in conversation. "I fought and I fought and I fought." Shelke almost mentions that perhaps she participated in such so avidly because of her longing to forget her sister; that perhaps this is what all the others felt when they, too, first arrived at Deep Ground, only she still possessed the child like innocence necessary to over come it. "You just fight and fight until you can fight no more – and then you keep fighting. It was all we knew. It was the mantra we lived by. I find meaning in little else now that my primary purpose is rendered useless."

"I'm sure they'll be another apocalypse sooner or later," Yuffie offers, trying her best to be sympathetic, but even her best is somewhat questionable. "Sephiroth is always returning in one reincarnation or another. Cloud can never really get rid of him. So you'll be able to fight again soon. I'm sure of it." There is a pause. "Just don't tell Cloud I said that, though. He'll mope about it for a week."

"Yes. But what is my purpose until then?"

Yuffie blinks. "Stand Up Comedy."

"You are decidedly not helping, Miss Kisaragi."

"Yes I am. You're just too brain fried to realize it. We're developing a bond – you and I. Kind of like Deep Ground – Sanity Style. Only I won't try to kill you. Or traumatize you."

"Yuffie. I fear you have already accomplished the latter."

o-o-o-o

It was awkward, to meet her sister again.

It was more awkward still, to know she was the cause of her apparent demise.

But what trumps all is that her sister, while comatose and lying in a mako tube, completely oblivious to life around her, caged in the same way Shelke was for so long, a thing Shelke used to wish upon her sibling time and time again when she lay in her bunk locked under Deep Ground, still contained the ability to hang on.

Shelke often wonders why she bothers.

She does not think herself worthy enough to hang onto.

Though it would be slightly counter productive for her to finally find her reason to live only to die.

o-o-o-o

Yuffie finds herself feeling uncharacteristically guilty. She does not execute this emotion well.

"Sorry," she spits out abruptly, staring intently at her half finished – now in sub zero temperatures – herbal tea.

"You apologize for things?" Shelke queries. "And here I was, thinking you could do no wrong."

Another funny – but Yuffie is too lost in her own litany of feelings to notice (or add it to the running total of tallies.)

"I'm sorry for … bitch slapping you and stuff. Ya know, after the Shelua incident and all." She inhales quickly. "I mean, you deserved it – don't get me wrong. But now I totally understand that you were way mental at the time – so technically you can't take _all_ the blame, right?"

There is a silence that permeates the room.

"How is she, my sister?"

"Still catching up on her beauty sleep." Yuffie lets out an irreverent snort, in complete contradiction to the surmising mood she was previously trying to cultivate. "Guess she needed a lot of it. Get it? Ha! No wonder she's still single!"

Shelke doesn't get it, so instead she take another shot at the waste basket, or at least pretends to, when in reality she is quietly taking aim at Yuffie's ever babbling head.

"…Not like she'd ever meet anyone inside that mako tube," the ninja continues, oblivious to her impending bombardment. "I mean, you didn't, right? Am I right?"

Her inquiries are cut off by a shot to the head as Shelke launches a balled up napkin straight into Yuffie's direct line of fire.

"May I point out you martial status is that of hers as well?"

Yuffie gapes, though whether it is from the napkin throwing or the sudden quip, Shelke can not tell.

Shelke smiles. "Perhaps you require more beauty sleep."

And with that, Shelke The Citrus is off, most likely to find a way to make her swords impervious to water, for she is growing weary of the fire extinguisher jokes.

o-o-o-o

Vincent enters the dining area some time later, to find Yuffie ruminating over the previous morning's conversation. He goes to the bar to pour himself a drink (for he, unlike other certain female protagonists of this story, is old enough to drink 'and die,' as Yuffie would point out.)

"You seem unlike yourself."

"Just thinking, is all."

Vincent sits upon a nondescript bar stool and waits for further elaboration. It never comes.

"How did the No Doz work?"

"Excellent. I'll be requiring more tomorrow."

At this, Vincent's gaze goes from investigating Yuffie's countenance to investigating that of the tile floor.

"Um, Vinnie? You _do_ have more, don't you?"

It is then she notices that his foot – his ridiculously tawdry, gold pointed foot – is bouncing up and down and up and down on the edge of his seat.

"Ohmigods! You _so_ did not do what I think you did!"

"…I had to," he grumbles, apparently not thrilled with his actions, either. "Shelke wanted to practice and I was too lethargic. I can get some more by next week."

"Next week?!" Yuffie screams. "Next week?! What the hell am I supposed to do until then, Vincent Valentine? Huh? Huh?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," was his console, and he then disappears down the hall with nary a word in his defense.

o-o-o-o

Author's Notes

o-o-o-o

I apologize for the length of this chapter – it just wouldn't stop. Kind of like the Energizer Bunny: I just kept going and going and going. Though, to my defense, I _did_ have to cover ten years, so perhaps twenty pages isn't too much of an over kill, given the requirements.

But I don't foresee all chapters prattling on at this length. Unless that is something you guys wish to see, of course. Because I do have a tendency to be prolific when caffeinated. As you can tell. Perhaps I can make a habit out of it.

Though this does make the former chapters look pitifully short.

Oh well. The more the merrier, isn't that what they say?

And in the same spirit: more to come. Hence we shall all be merrier.

I think. I hope. Maybe not.

(By the way, Reading Chick is still spitting out fan art like she's on an IV drip of artistic steroids. I highly suggest checking them out – for they, like, rock and stuff. XD)

Thank you for taking the time to read! I truly do appreciate it!

(Vixen issues a generic glomp of epic proportions.)


	4. Chapter 4

_Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown_

_Conversations Continued_

o-o-o-o

The breakfast nook is all agleam with reflected light and scattered sunbeams, much in contrast to Yuffie's atypical demeanor, who could be found intently relying upon a very suspicious looking silver can of which she seemed to rely on quite readily at intermittent points in her reverie.

Shelke, who is also falling into the category of uncharacteristic today, was the last one to arise and finds Yuffie already seated in her usual spot, forgoing the inhalation of food she habitually undergoes during breakfast.

"You're late," Yuffie remarks, continuing to glare something lethal out the window, her eyes spitting venom and random passers bys.

"I believe the No Doz has some unspecified side effects," offers Shelke, scanning Yuffie's countenance for any hints as to why she seemed so on edge. "Crashing, for example."

"Oh, gods," came the exhalation. "Vincent probably went into a frickin' _coma_…"

(He hasn't, but Yuffie often likes to pretend her delusions of grandeur could be happily mistaken as fact.)

Arriving at the conclusion Yuffie's silent wrath had nothing to do with her – for she has obliged to every request the girl made thus far in their 'very platonic and non lesbian relationship,' – Shelke takes up her designated perch and continues to stare quizzically in her partner's general direction.

"What are you ingesting?" she asks, eyeing the beverage that did not appear to be something her addled memory could register.

"Beer."

"…I thought we agreed upon mineral water."

Though she knows better than to admit it, Shelke momentarily finds herself wondering if this particular chemical enhancement will put a damper on their ritualistic breakfast time. (Regardless if that was something she had initially wanted eight weeks ago.)

"Beer for breakfast?"

"I'm starting a new fad."

"It has been my observation, since emerging from the confines of Deep Ground, that humans usually imbibe alcohol when they are upset about something." Shelke waits a beat. "Yuffie, are you currently upset about something?"

The ninja supplies a lethargic nod.

"Sometimes it pays to have no emotions," Shelke observes distantly, not ready to acknowledge she is playing the role of hypocrite by simply taking the time to make such a statement for her friend's benefit.

"Sit down, Shelkster. Yuffie needs to rant."

o-o-o-o

"I'm beginning to think _I'm_ the most mentally stable out of all of us," Yuffie begins after some more time is dedicated to gandering out the window.

Shelke wonders if Yuffie is trying to utilize irony again.

But it appears as though she is not.

"Would if be appropriate for me to laugh?" Shelke questions.

The venomous glaring is then redirected from the window to her.

"No," Yuffie answers dead pan.

Shelke supposes that, despite all logic, this is a serious matter, and decides to go along with it, broaching it just as she would any other topic of discussion.

"And to what do we owe this conclusion?"

"Aw, gee, let's think about it for a minute, shall we? You're whole psychotic gang aside – let's take a look at _mine_."

Shelke tries to recollect.

"We've got our mentally aberrated, emo-licious leading man Cloud – gods, why must that man be so damn hot? – and then we've got our only sane resident, Aerith, the innocent flower girl, shish-ko-bobbed by a gender confused, maternally deprived pretty boy with a penchant for Locks Of Love and swords twice his body index – "

Shelke can't help but interrupt at this point.

"Does not emo-licious Cloud share that same penchant?"

"Dude. _Dude_. Did you just use _emo-licious _in a sentence?"

"Why? Is that not a word? You use it quite often."

"Well, yeah. I guess. Maybe. Kinda. Sorta. But I use a lot of slang, Shelkie. Though I guess it can't hurt for you to learn that, too. Anyways, like I was saying – wait, back up a sec – even Cloud's _sword_ is suspect, considering he got it from a dead guy who, in turn, got it from another dead guy. Now there's a good bed time story for ya."

(Shelke believes this is the definition of inheritance, but doesn't bother to educate Yuffie on these matters.)

"What story would that be?"

"Zack. But Cid hasn't gotten drunk enough to give you the Cliff Notes on that one yet. Suffice it to say Cloud wasn't the only spikey haired SOLDIER Aerith went gaa gaa eyes over."

"They were injected with mako – they could not help the fact that they possessed these so called gaa gaa eyes."

"No, not them stupid. Her."

"Aerith was injected with mako as well?"

"No! Gods! Try and keep up, please! I kept all _your_ loonies straight!"

Shelke doesn't bother to point out there were only four.

"Anyway, I was using _slang_ again. Remember?"

"…And this is why I prefer words found in the dictionary."

"Stop interrupting me! It's my turn to monologue! Like I was saying – where did I leave off? Oh yeah, Aerith."

And then an odd contortion of anguish replaces Yuffie's previously energetic face. It is not a look she wears well, almost as if her saucer eyes and high cheekbones were not accustomed to bending like that.

"Ya know, she looked really pretty in pink," Yuffie recounts, hints of a strain she'd never admit to laden in her voice. "Like an angel, almost."

Shelke feels odd and out of place – for she never knew this Aerith that everyone seemed to hold in such high regard.

Yuffie was busy absent mindedly fingering the pink ribbon tied around her forearm, and in that moment the seemingly odd insignia the group shared all fell into place.

Shelke wonders, if she were to pass, or, more accurately, now that her dependency on mako and retarded growth are things of precedent, when she _does_ pass, if anyone will remember her as fondly.

She likes to hope so.

"Angels don pink?" Shelke asks, at first to fill in the silence, and then as a genuine question.

"Of course. I've decided all angels wear pink."

Shelke's brow furrows.

"Then why did Sephiroth not sport something of the pink variety?"

Silence.

"Okay. Not funny. Not even close. You suck at making jokes – have I told you that lately? Please refrain from trying. Ha, that should make you proud. I just used the word _refrain_ in a sentence. But – I'll forgive your butchered attempt at humor this time. Because I'm cool like that."

"I thought all this time you were constantly advocating you were hot."

More silence.

"Well – um – I'm both! Please, Shelke, try and keep up."

Shelke glares and is momentarily dismayed her eyes will not change color anymore upon request. It would have made for good dramatic effect.

"Indeed."

o-o-o-o

"Okay. So. We've got Cloud, Sephiroth, Aerith, and – oh duh – Tifa, our karate chopping bar tender who initiates her own center of gravity, what with her planet sized knockers and all. And then there's Barret, loosing his arm and replacing it with a kick ass machine gun, of all things – one must wonder what he hopes to teach Marlene by doing this – and also, just how does he go about wiping himself in the bathroom?"

"With toilet paper, presumably."

"Stop interrupting! I never did that to you!"

Shelke opts to remain silent concerning that highly debatable matter. Though there are, admittedly, hints of a twinkle in her eye, and she finally comes forth with, "I'll consent to drinking coffee if you agree to inebriate yourself more often."

"Which would be fan-frickin-tastic, 'cept I don't feel the least bit inebriated. This stuff is piss water, as far as I'm concerned. I don't see what all the hoop-la is. I don't feel the least bit better. Besides, I can't do this _all_ the time – only when Tifa's not around. I'm not legal yet."

"I assumed as much."

"Think she'll let me get away with the excuse that I was secretly a part of Deep Ground with you and therefore stopped aging around nineteen – thus in reality really placing me over the threshold of twenty one?"

"No."

"Do you think I should at least try?"

"No."

"Do you think if I act all emotionally scarred she'd almost fall for it?"

"No."

"…Are you going to say anything else concerning my plot to foil the legal drinking limit?"

"No."

o-o-o-o

It doesn't take long for Yuffie to resuscitate the tirade about the lacking quality of the beer.

"This beer sucks fiend balls, man. I'm not even getting a buzz."

To Shelke, a buzz was a reference to electrocution torture; something avoided, not actively sought after.

"A buzz?" she repeats.

"Ya know – I don't _feel_ better."

"Beer does not hold medicinal properties, Yuffie."

"Like hell it don't!" yells Cid from the doorway in passing, issuing his own version of good morning to the haphazard duo. The so called 'psychotic gang' had learned to leave the breakfast nook alone between the hours of nine and twelve. Until noon, it was Yuffie and Shelke's domain. 'Shelke Therapy' – as Yuffie had dubbed it.

"You ain't supposed to be drinkin' that shit anyway, Ninja Girl."

"Peer pressure! Shelke made me do it!"

At this – Shelke actually emits a small squeal of fright.

"Oh, gods. Cid, she thinks you're gonna come over here and punish her. You can't beat on her yet – she's still in recovery!"

"Don't worry, Shelke, I don't believe a damn thing that comes out of that girl's mouth." He smirked. "You shouldn't either. Ya know who you should listen to? Me. That's who. Good ol' Cid'll set ya straight. But I ain't allowed to drink 'till three. Until then, Shera's got me sippin' tea like some dainty little bitch. Ah well, I'll let you two get back to whatever it is you two do. Gotta go work on my ship if I ever wanna go home. Tifa can't make tea the way my Shera can. She any better at coffee?"

"No," comes the resounding answer from the former Tsviet.

"We highly suggest No Doz," Yuffie offers instead.

"Gods dammit, Yuffie, whaddya doin' to her?"

"Making her likable. Now buzz off. Bonding Time. Us only. Get out."

Cid wordlessly obliges, slinkering off to go tinker with his ship so he could return to Rocket Town some time before he drunk himself to death right there in the middle of the dilapidating bar.

o-o-o-o

Yuffie has resumed her previous activity of staring out the window again, anger etched subtly into her features, like she's trying to swallow it but it's too vile and she can't keep it down.

"Yuffie," Shelke begins, trying to mitigate her tone in a feeble imitation of Tifa's when the woman finds herself concerned about something. "Why is it you never go home?"

"This _is_ my home," Yuffie spits defiantly, eyes still glued to the pavement that lies beyond the dusty glass.

"Wutai Flea?" Shelke suggests. "I think not."

"Look. Just 'cuz I wasn't _born_ here doesn't mean – oh, never mind. I'm a traveler, alright? I live off motels and inns. And complimentary breakfasts."

"And alcohol, ostensibly."

"Yeah. That too."

o-o-o-o

"I suppose now would be a good time to rant about Vinnie, but I think you already know everything there is to know about him."

"Most likely," Shelke admits. Having his past lover lurking around in the corners of her mind pretty much solidified her knowledge in that arena.

"The only thing I don't get is the shoes. What the hell is up with his shoes? Can you tell me that?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Pfft – then what good _are_ you?"

"They do look capable of impaling small children."

"That must be it, then. Vinnie's into genocide – wants to eliminate all those under the age of seven." Pause. "Don't worry, you're still safe."

Shelke once again wishes her eyes would turn orange upon demand.

"Ya know, now that I'm thinking about it, Nero looked kind of like Vinnie. Sorta. If, you, like, squinted. And maybe stood on your head. With sunglasses." She contemplated this for a good thirty seconds. "Speaking of which, don't you spit things out that Lucrecia would say every once in a while?"

"I'm getting better at controlling that."

"…Hey! I have an idea! Why don't you pretend Vinnie is your demon winged drag queen and you can be his slutty little back stabbing scientist!"

Shelke is beginning to question the validity of the beer. Then again, Yuffie would be prone to say that sober, as well. So who knows?

o-o-o-o

"And then there's Nanaki," Yuffie continues to blather.

At this – Shelke turns an unsightly shade of crimson.

Yuffie blinks.

"Whoa. Dude. Are you blushing? Don't tell me you have a crush on him or something. Oh, gods, you're just as bad as Hojo! Trying to breed poor innocent Aerith and Red XIII in hopes of procuring some mutant, fire assed baby Cetra, who in turn would probably require so much therapy that – "

"I was not privy to his species before being abducted by Deep Ground," Shelke says quietly, almost as though she were embarrassed. "I assumed, faultily, I may add, that he was nothing more than a mere pet."

"You _what_? And he, like, let you live?"

"…I remember Shelua and I used to have a dog. And we used to throw sticks and he'd go and fetch them."

"…Sacred Shiva. Don't tell me you – "

"So when I first got here, I was alone and bored and sitting on the stoop right outside the bar and I tried to … play fetch … with Nanaki."

Yuffie has, once again, disintegrated into a heaping pile of laughter.

"I knew he was sentient when he turned to glare at me and said, 'Good job. You can throw and stick. Now you can be the one to go and pick it back up.'"

Yuffie doesn't say anything. Words are not an option for her right now.

o-o-o-o

"The Turks? Well – they're their own special brand of crazy. Figures. Vinnie was one of them. Doesn't talk about it much. But whatever. One thing is for certain: he had much better fashion sense while residing as one of their members. And better hair, for that matter. Which doesn't seem to be the norm now. I mean, look at Reno. Just look at him. Going around sporting a ponytail like a little school girl – probably trying to make up for Rude's severe lack of follicles."

"Cloud's hair is notable, as well," Shelke can't help but interject.

Yuffie opens her mouth to protest against another unwarranted interruption, but Shelke reminds her that at least she has stayed on topic.

"Don't even get me _started_ on the logistics behind our hair. I mean, I love the men in this family dearly, but I swear they use more product than us girls do. 'Cept for maybe you, Shelke. Straight iron, am I right?"

"Excuse me?"

"That flippy thing your hair does. Do you use a straight iron in the morning?"

"No. It just does this naturally."

"Oh boy – I bet Kadaj would be jealous. Looks like something he'd try."

"What was stopping him?"

"World domination," Yuffie answers and then takes a moment to sip at her so called piss water posing as beer. "Seems to be a reoccurring theme with all who oppose us. You'd think our nemeses would wisen up after awhile and set their sights on – oh, say – one _town_ as opposed to the _entire frickin' world_." She then looks directly at Shelke. "Then again, I suppose I'm asking the right person."

"I just obey orders. Accost Hojo in the Lifestream if you have any qualms concerning our approach to taking over The Planet."

"Nah – I'm saying hi to Aerith first. Then I'm gonna go see my mom. What about you?"

Shelke internally twitches.

"My family is just down the hall and to the left."

Silence.

"…You want some of my crappy zero proof alcohol?"

"Negative. Fermented beverages will not aid in my sister's recovery."

"No, no. I meant for you, moron."

"I sincerely doubt they would aid in mine, either."

o-o-o-o

Shelke watches as Yuffie drains the contents of the beer and smashes the can shortly thereafter with her bare fist. The object of her wrath crumples compliantly.

"You have run out of friends to hide behind."

"What was that?" Yuffie asks, attention returning to the conversation at hand.

"There is no one left for you to dissect. Now you must tell me what is bothering you."

"Says who?" Yuffie grumbles, flicking the demolished beer can aside and resting her chin on her forearms.

"Me," Shelke states obviously.

"Rhetorical. Another lesson."

Shelke continues to stare Yuffie down. Perhaps she can glare her into submission. It was worth a try – it has worked for her before.

"My father," Yuffie abruptly states.

Ah. Sans the orange eyes, it appears as though Shelke's heavy gaze still held some weight. She made a quick mental note and then proceeded with her all powerful stare.

"He … he called on the PHS, right? And he was all like, 'Yuffie, when are you coming back to Wutai and Yuffie, your home town needs you and Yuffie, it's time you stopped frolicking around the world and tried to grow up.' And … and then he said I was wasting my life hanging out with a rag tag bunch of crazies and needed to come home and make something of myself. And I was like, 'Oh, gee Dad, that's real nice. Those same crazies saved your wrinkly old ass twice over. And as far as making something of myself is concerned – I'm the best damn ninja to ever come out of your stupid little village and you should be honored I'd even consider _visiting_ let alone settle my ass down there.'"

Shelke remains silent. She finds that this, too, tends to work in her favor.

"And … and my friends aren't really crazy, ya know? Sure, we're a little odd, and we all have our own quirks – I mean, hell, look at you – but … but I love you guys, yeah?"

Shelke blinks. She is not accustomed to hearing that word.

"Ask him to define crazy."

"…I don't think there's a specific criterion, Shelke. Well – maybe not. I'm pretty sure Rosso could be safely categorized as crazy no matter what guide lines you set up. But since when did mental instability lessen one's ability to become a friend?"

Shelke's mind is running a mile a minute, Yuffie can tell.

"Speak. I know you want to."

"I thought I was to refrain from interrupting."

"It's not interrupting if I'm asking for it, dummy."

"Your father is … how do you say it? An asshole?"

Yuffie instinctually giggles at what has to be Shelke's first (basic) swear word. Even though she's sure there are plenty of Tsviet epitaphs she knows that would make her sister roll over in her grave – er, mako tube.

"And he does not know the true meaning of crazy," she all but whispers, her face clouding over at the memory of _her_ gang's own mental decline. "He should consider himself fortunate his daughter is happy. Vincent could wear pink fuzzy slippers in the stead of his golden boots for all I care, as long as he does not develop a habit of beating me, one can learn to look beyond first impressions and general aesthetics. Nero looked certifiably insane but he was the only one who never hurt me for sport." Shelke clears her throat. "And Hojo – Hojo looked like a doctor. And look at the mayhem he caused." She falls silent for a moment. "I would rather count a man infused with mechanical wings and donning a straight jacket as my friend any day than a well groomed scientist with a meticulously kept ponytail but who had a penchant for cross breeding his specimens. Perhaps I should talk to your father. There is much he needs to hear."

In the wake of Shelke's soliloquy, Yuffie can do little more than gape.

"Holy Hell, I think that's the longest sentence you ever said."

"Actually, that was multiples sentences," Shelke corrects.

Yuffie raises her head so she is once again eye level with her companion.

"Hey, Shelke? What's it like watching your friends go … crazy? I mean, really crazy?"

"I would rather not go through the experience again, if that's at all possible."

Typical Shelke Response.

"Though you seem to already fit into the aforementioned category."

"Me? Crazy?" Yuffie repeats with mock incredulity.

Then, with more sincere incredulity, "…Me? Friend?"

Shelke does not say anything.

"Moving on," she orders, in total Tsviet like fashion.

"Ya know, if you wanted to talk crazy, like, really truly crazy, maybe you should try bonding with Tifa. Cloud lost a couple screws along the way. Tifa's still looking for them. Maybe you could help."

Shelke's eyes almost twinkle again.

"Negatory. Tifa does not make good coffee."

Yuffie snorts.

"Trust me – her skills lie solely in the alcoholic department. If we ever get you get out of the fourth grade, you'll understand."

o-o-o-o

"So that's what's wrong with this beer, Tifa didn't make it," Yuffie finally determines, unwilling to give up her alcohol lust over one dud beverage. "I snatched it from the cupboard. Replaced it with seltzer water. No one will ever know."

"I somehow am inclined to think the carbonation will give it away…"

"Not if they already have a few good rounds in them. I stuck it in the back. By the time they get to it – and by they I mean Cid – he won't be able to tell the difference between vodka and chocolate milk."

"You're turning into quite the intellectual."

"Hey, I didn't _teach_ you irony yet! Therefore you're not allowed to use it!"

Yuffie goes and checks on her seltzer water, conveniently tucked away behind what may or may not have been better cans of beer.

"Can beer go stale or something?" she wonders out loud, standing on the counter top, her head obscured from view by the wooden panels.

Shelke finds herself wanting to smile, but doesn't carry the feat out because she can't remember how.

Even if Yuffie's voice is muffled, she is still loud enough to be heard from across the room and behind the pantry.

"To Cid, alcohol is more important, than, like, air. I dunno about you, but I'm pretty sure the bottle of wine isn't supposed to outweigh the person drinking it, ya know what I mean?"

"…They make two hundred pound bottles of wine?"

"Figure of speech. Looks like you haven't learned everything yet. And here I was thinking you were beginning to cultivate some brain cells."

Shelke is still pondering the logistics behind wine bottles.

"I do not think Tifa is capable of pouring a two hundred pound bottle of wine."

"Who are you kidding?!" Yuffie yelps, jumping down from her perch, now satisfied with her kitchen arrangement. "This is Tifa we're talking about here. One boob alone weighs more than two hundred pounds."

"…Figure of speech?" Shelke ventures.

"Yes. Very good. You can graduate to Junior High now."

And so it goes, Shelke was finally taught the art behind figures of speech through wine bottles and two hundred pound breasts.

Shalua would be proud.

o-o-o-o

It's dinner time now, a time Shelke usually spends in utter silence, simply basking in the camaraderie of everyone else, and this time is no exception.

Except she can't help but notice Yuffie seems a little more effervescent than usual, and she likes to think that perhaps she played a small part in that.

Shelke is poking at her meal with a fork when Tifa gets up from her seat to go over to the bar and fetch Cloud whatever it was he requested to drink. She cringes when she looks to find the woman opening the same cabinet Yuffie was poking around earlier. Not that Shelke doubts her partner's skills as a ninja, but she is almost certain that some tell tale sign will be left behind. It usually was.

Tifa's face scrunches up, much like the washboard in the sink, and she scratches the back of her neck while deep in thought.

"Yuffie," she begins.

Yuffie's face goes all but transparent in the wake of her name.

"…Yes Tifa?"

"Why is there a seltzer bottle in Denzel's cabinet?"

"…Denzel?"

Tifa throws a quizzical expression over her shoulder. "Yes. This is where we keep the distilled irrigation containers for his fish tank. What's your mineral enhanced seltzer water doing in here?"

"Distilled…" Yuffie begins, brow furrowing. "…Fish tank?"

Pause.

"Then where the hell do you keep all the alcohol?!"

Tifa smirks, all knowing and omnipotent, as usual.

"Oh, Yuffie. I keep that locked up in the cooler. Beer is no good cold."

"No wonder it tasted like – !"

Yuffie never gets to finish her sentence.

And the rest of the table never gets to finish their meal.

They are too enraptured at the sight of Shelke keeling over at the sides, gasping for air as she hyperventilates in a series of unprecedented giggles.

o-o-o-o

Author's Note

o-o-o-o

Figured I'd give Yuffie the spot light this time around – not like she doesn't try to hog it all to herself every chapter anyway.

And there's nothing like a quasi drunk Yuffie to finally elicit a smile out of Shelke.

Hypothetically speaking, at any rate.

(I dunno, can you become drunk from a fish tank?)

Reading Chick is still pumping out the art works, only this time around I decided to join in the fray and attempted a couple of doodles pertaining to earlier chapters of the story. You know the drill: profile = fan art = links = pictures.

Thank you for reading and reviewing, seriously, words don't even suffice. I love you all dearly and want to birth you internet babies. And bake you some cookies.

At any rate. Hope you enjoyed. XD


	5. Chapter 5

_Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown_

_Conversations Continued_

o-o-o-o

All Shelke can see is the top of Yuffie's chocolate colored head, settled amidst the confines of her pale arms, stray pieces of hair sticking out behind her ears like rebellious portions of straw.

"I find it more beneficial to sleep in one's bed," Shelke remarks, sitting across from her comrade. It is once again morning, for the sun always rises, and with it comes the ritualistic bonding moments of two wayward companions.

Shelke figures this is poetic justice, what with being kept underground for so long. She went ten years without so much as a glimpse of the sky, and now every day she is greeted by a dazzling display of sunlight. She wonders if one could construe deeper meaning from this – birth, hope, renewal – but opts not to mention it, seeing as though Yuffie would most likely regard all attempts toward the profound and symbolic as 'way lame.'

"Have you ever tried bathing in your own vomit?"

Shelke blinks. Says nothing. Then blinks again.

"Rhetorical?" she implores.

"No. This time I'm actually being serious."

"Then I'm afraid I can not relate to that experience."

Yuffie heaves a sigh, great enough in force to topple over a couple of concrete edifices if aimed in the right direction.

She undergoes great pain to initiate eye contact, states: 'hang over,' and then goes back to cradling her cranium in her outstretched appendages.

"I thought you were unsuccessful in that particular endeavor."

"Well, once I learned the beer was in the _cooler_…"

"The locked cooler," Shelke recalls. "How did you manage to gain access to the key?"

"I didn't, stupid. I'm a ninja, remember? I specialize in picking locks. And being stealthy."

Shelke bites her tongue so as not to laugh outright in front of her friend.

"You consider yourself stealthy?"

"It's a package deal – comes with the whole ninja gig."

"…Doesn't one usually have to be somewhat quiet when … stealth-ing?"

Yuffie rolls one eye upwards towards Shelke's nose.

"I thought you only used words you found in the dictionary."

"Depends," Shelke says. "I was at a lack of verbs, I fear."

Yuffie remembers when Cid tried to teach her the context of proper grammar (since apparently she butchered it so heinously during their first time saving the world) through an interesting lesson of the basic language and all its corresponding parts.

"Noun," he began to dictate over their pitiful excuse for a campfire, somewhere between the rocky walls of Cosmo Canyon. (The inevitable echo that followed only further solidified the memory into Yuffie's spastic mind.) "Fucker. As in: you good for nothing fucker."

Yuffie nodded.

"Verb," he continued. "To fuck. As in: I am going to fuck this shit up."

He cleared his throat.

"Adverb." Pause. "Adverb," he repeated, at a loss. "Gods dammit. Aerith, what's an adverb again?"

"Cid. I don't think Yuffie needs to hear this."

"Fucking-ly. Yeah. That's it. You just add –ly to the end, right?"

"Cid, you can not make a sentence with the word f – "

Aerith stopped herself.

"With that word," she finished, blushing.

"Yes you can!" Yuffie had cried. "Fucking-ly. As in: fucking-ly fantastic!"

"See?" Cid boasted with pride. "I got myself a little protégée. Now whaddya think 'bout that? Huh?"

He never got the recognition he was searching for. He rarely does.

It is at the moment Shelke notices Yuffie is practically drinking a bottle of ibuprofen – nursing it like a newborn, the rim of the container never more than a couple of inches away from her mouth.

"Hojo Vitamins?"

Yuffie glares something lethal beneath the uneven fringe of her bangs.

"Screw you," she retaliates, the paradigm of intelligence. "And I'm not giving you a tally for that one."

At this, Shelke almost pouts. Whether or not the feat was intentional never reciprocated an answer. Perhaps she was subconsciously beginning to pick up on the ninja's less than admirable traits.

"Speaking of pills," Yuffie begins, pouring more into her mouth, after assuring a wide eyed Shelke you can't over dose on anything over the counter – because then it wouldn't be over the counter – she rubs the tip of her nose absent mindedly and says, "We should try getting you hopped up on some painkillers. See what happens. Yeah?"

Shelke takes this into careful consideration.

"But there are so many flavors to choose from. Where would we start?"

She continues to stare at Yuffie.

"Tally?"

"Fine," the girl grouses, scavenging into her back pocket for the fabled notebook of Shelke Funnies. "I suppose we could start you off on lethal quantities of hi potions. At least they're legal."

"And I take it they don't aid in the epic quest to eliminate hang overs?"

"No," Yuffie replies, her voice resounding through out the vacant kitchen. "No they do not. Kind of like how Phoenix Downs couldn't bring Aerith back from the dead. They're only useful up until the point where you are too far gone – and I mean that in both the figurative and literal sense."

o-o-o-o

"Did dating go on in Deep Ground?"

"I believe we already covered this topic, Miss Kisaragi."

"Stop it with the Miss Kisaragi already! I'm not your elder! Gods!"

"Everyone in Deep Ground had two names," Shelke states in her defense. "It is only natural I wish to have an option when referencing you."

"Yuffie works just fine, thank you very much." Pause. "Unless you wanna call me The Great White Rose Of Wutai. That works too."

"That's too long."

"Then stick to Yuffie," she says, all curt and business like. "And stick to the topic at hand, too." She clears her throat. "Dating. Deep Ground. Discuss."

Shelke goes so far as to actually roll her eyes.

"Who has time for such trivial nonsense when the fate of the world is at stake?"

Yuffie's eyes, blood shot as they were, were still able to grow to the width of economy size marshmallows.

"Oh, Shelke, you have _no_ idea…"

o-o-o-o

"Personally, I think Reeve takes his hand out to dinner."

"…Excuse me?"

"Probably feels the need to romance it before putting it to work, ya know?"

Shelke does not. But figures it is in her best interest to pretend that she does. So she supplies a hearty nod of agreement.

"Hm – ya know what? Reeve and Shalua would go well together. All nerdy scientist like and whatnot. They could totally get their geek on together. That way maybe Reeve can stop molesting his half sentient robots."

"You have a libido of seismic proportions," Shelke notes dimly, not overtly thrilled with the mental image of her comatose sister and the leader of the WRO getting it on in a lab of mako tubes and half finished androids. "Do you play matchmaker for everyone you meet?"

Yuffie smirks.

She seems to be forgetting she has a hang over.

"Well, Cid's already got Shera – and what's more, he's actually _loyal_ to her!" Yuffie throws her arms up in the air. "Cid! This is Cid we're talking about here! Can you believe it? The tea. It must be the tea. There is no other feasible explanation for this phenomenon."

"There rarely is when it comes to matters of the heart."

"Shelkie, please. Don't go all profound and shit on me here. I'm trying to pontificate."

"I can see that."

"And then there's Tifa," Yuffie continues, moving right along, disregarding Shelke's side comment like she has done so many times before. "And she's all 'I've got a pining childhood crush on a man who's too busy being emo and changing his wardrobe to notice these two juicy breasts could be his for the taking if he'd just yank his androgynous head out of that ever angsting ass.' Gods. It's pitiful."

Yuffie finishes off the last of the ibuprofen and slams it down on the table victoriously, almost as if stomaching an illegal amount of painkillers is a feat worthy of acolytes.

"Speaking of angsting – Nanaki is still too busy mourning the loss of his beloved Bubble Butt – Bugenhagen, was it? – to actually get back on the dating scene. But more on that later."

"May I remind you we only have two more hours? Are you sure you are able to _pontificate_ within the designated time limit?"

"I sense some sarcasm. Was that sarcasm? 'Cuz I don't like sarcasm."

"Now why would I do a thing like that?"

Silence.

Yuffie glares and adds a tally.

"Not funny. Just clever, is all. Don't pull something like that again."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

(A veer of some magnitude is delivered, but never the less, so is another tally.)

Deep breath. And on goes the diatribe.

"And Barret – we'll skip Vinnie for the time being because _someone_ is too busy watching the clock – Barret is too preoccupied playing Daddy to Marlene – and even if he did find someone crazy enough to date him, Marlene doesn't approve of anyone easily. I've known her for, what, three years now? Four? And she _still_ doesn't like me!"

"Imagine that."

(This time, there is no tally.)

o-o-o-o

"Now it's time for further elaboration. And upon the closure of mine, I expect yours to commence."

"Yuffie – I have already told you – I have nothing to elaborate on."

"Uh-huh," she drawls cynically. "Like hell you don't."

"…I could quite descriptively elaborate on hell, if that's what you'd prefer."

"Um. No. And stop using all the wonderful things I'm teaching you against me! You're supposed to use them against Cid! Or Vincent! Not me!"

Shelke smirks.

"Uh-huh."

Yuffie reverts to cradling her head in her arms.

"Oh gawds, what monster have I created?"

She instinctively reaches for her pill bottle only to find it empty.

"Dammit! And just when I needed them the most…"

"Elaborate upon these so called love lives. I find them all dubious and highly suspect to exaggeration. But they are amusing, I'll admit. Perhaps it will help ameliorate your pain."

o-o-o-o

"Cloud is a man whore. You can pair him up with anybody. Even dead chicks."

This is how Yuffie opts to start her tirade. She expects Shelke to compliantly listen, and that she does. But not without comment.

"I believe we have already discussed the logistics behind Cloud commiserating with prostitutes of debatable gender."

"Oh, wow, that was ages ago. I'm surprised you remember that. Hell – I didn't remember that. Must be all that mako they filled you up with. Anyway, back to what _I_ was saying: Cloud – unfortunately, for this goes against my general animosity towards him – looks good with whoever you put him next to."

"I would not date him," Shelke feels the need to point out.

"What? Why not? You guys would go perfect together! Think about it: you could both sit across from one another glaring in vehement silence while bemoaning all the wrongs done to you and subsequently lost childhoods."

Shelke glowers.

"And you were both experimented on! By the same man!"

"As was Vincent."

"Yeah, but he's, like, in recovery now or something. Twelve Step Program – I dunno. Finally got some closure. I guess that's what happens when you, ya know, save the world and stuff."

"Did you not save the world once as well?"

"Yeah, but this time he did it all by himself."

Yuffie ruminates over this fact for a moment or two.

"Attention Whore."

o-o-o-o

"And then there's Aerith. I loved Aerith. I think, if I were gay, I'd definitely marry Aerith."

"…I'm sure she felt the same."

"Actually, no, not really. We kinda hated each other and stuff in the beginning. Well, not her so much as me. See – Aerith is kind of, like, incapable of hating anyone, or _anything_, for that matter. Hell, she may even have liked you!" Yuffie balks. "I mean, before I started tutoring you and all."

"Of course."

"To be horrifically honest, which I'm about to do, so brace yourself – I kinda thought Aerith was a prostitute when I first met her, what with her street walking fetish and sketchy looking chapel. I figured the 'flower selling' ploy was just a front – that she was really selling something else. Like, how is it she could afford a pink satin floor length dress by selling tulips when Tifa – who owns her own frickin' business – can't cough up the gil to buy a shirt that actually fits? I mean, she's taken care of that now, thank the gods. Consider yourself fortunate you never had to witness her melons doing a jig while limit breaking. But as far as Aerith is concerned? Damn. First impressions can be a bitch. Which is why I was so totally not surprised to find out she went gaa gaa over _both_ the world's most notorious SOLDIERS. But – "

And there it was again – that mournful expression that Yuffie mocks Cloud to hell for – now making a guest appearance on her face instead of his.

She fiddles with the pink ribbon on her arm and lowers her gaze so as not to have Shelke scrutinize the glassy coating her eyes have donned without her consent.

"I like to think she's with Zack right now. It helps. It helps knowing someone is up there to keep her company in that cold, green, ominous Lifestream."

In no shorter than a nanosecond, Yuffie goes from being melancholy to chipper in one fell swoop.

"You think they're having sex up there? Like, right now? Can you do that after death?"

Shelke merely shrugs.

"If it's at all possible, I am sure Hojo is watching."

o-o-o-o

"Tifa will never have to worry about domestic abuse. Why? 'Cuz she kicks some serious ass. I kinda feel bad for her, though – left to pick up the pieces that were once Cloud. It's like a fairytale romance gone all wrong. Like someone stole their happily ever after. But she keeps right on looking for it."

"Well how else do you suppose she find it?"

o-o-o-o

"Nanaki's definition of geriatric is about a kazillion years and then some. He's five hundred something _now_ – and claims to be 'but a mere adolescent.' Yeah. Good luck with that one, Red. I somehow doubt age is your best selling point."

Shelke arches an eyebrow. Is disappears under her bangs.

"Easy for you to say."

"…Whoops."

o-o-o-o

"Barret is probably going to be a bachelor for life. I just don't foresee cuddling in his near future. Not with that arm of his – gods! He might accidentally kill his potential girlfriend instead of groping her! And Marlene – well – Marlene kicks more ass than Tifa."

o-o-o-o

"What about you?"

"Shelke, hold your thought a minute, will ya? I was about to transition into Vinnie."

"Do you harbor a clandestine inclination towards anyone?"

Pause.

"I've fondled more materia than boys," she finally comes back with. "And sometimes I sleep with them, too. The materia, that is. Not the boys." Yuffie inhales sharply. "Though I do derive unspeakable pleasure from tormenting Vincent Valentine."

Shelke is not clairvoyant, but she likes to pretend she can predict the future from time to time. And right now she's predicting a future romantic relationship that may or may not end with a restraining order.

o-o-o-o

"And Vincent – well – who the hell knows what's up with Vincent? I mean really. I don't. You don't. Or do you? Say – if I built you a terminal, would you stick that helmet on again and go skinny dip into his brain for me? I swear, I'll be real careful with the wires so you don't have another epileptic fit. Maybe I'll even make some improvements, like – "

"I would sooner eat my own weight in broken glass twice over, thank you very much."

o-o-o-o

"Okay. Your turn."

"My turn?" Shelke asks. "Surely you don't mean – "

"I have a hang over. Don't piss me off."

o-o-o-o

"I did, admittedly, enjoy Weiss's general lack of clothing during my later years at Deep Ground," Shelke begins (begrudgingly, mind you.)

"Which is ironic, considering Nero wore more garb than a parka donning vagabond from the Icicle Inn and you _still_ can't mention his name without blushing." Yuffie lets this comment sink in for a moment or two. (They're down to thirty minutes, she's still got a few to spare.) "Hey, I wonder what was underneath. Like, did you ever wanna strip him?"

Silence.

"Get it? Strip? His face was covered in rolls of medical adhesive. Right? Right? Get it?"

"…No."

Yuffie can not tell if Shelke means no, she does not get it, or no, her libido was confiscated at some gods forsaken age and she therefore never imagined Nero naked. Oh well. In retrospect, it doesn't really matter. And she wouldn't let on if it did.

"Actually, come to think of it, you have mentioned the wonders of Weiss's hind quarters more than once."

(I suppose the confiscated libido is out, Yuffie thinks.)

"Again I say: direct line of vision. Not my fault."

"Yeah. Sure. You wanna hear a funny story?"

"…Concerning Weiss's posterior?"

"Well, sorta. Okay. So. I was turning ten, right? I had this big birthday bash – and everyone in Wutai came even though nobody really liked me, they just showed up because of my father and all that crap – but anyway – he set up an impromptu game of pin the tail on the donkey so us kiddies would be occupied while the adults got some alone time. Being left to my own devices, as I usually am, I deemed pin the tail on the donkey much too juvenile a game to be played by a dawning ten year old. Thus, I scampered to my bedroom and took out some poster board and magic marker and – using the model I practiced my chakram skills on in the temple as a guide – drew up a very aesthetically pleasing man – sans clothes. Which, I dunno, I didn't think was all that terrible. All the dummies we practiced on in the temple were naked. Why not have one attend my birthday party? So I marched back outside, pinned my masterpiece up on the side of our house, grabbed an iron nail and a cucumber, and decided to play the game a la Yuffie: Pin The Junk On The Hunk. I got spanked. In public. So I can totally relate to all those beatings you went through. Totally."

Shelke stares blankly at her partner.

"You done?"

"Yup."

"So I can say something?"

"Yup."

"What was an iron nail doing at a ten year old's birthday party?"

"I…I dunno! I stole it! From…somewhere! A builder, maybe!"

"…Indeed."

"Shelkie!" Yuffie whines. "You pay attention to all the wrong things!"

"It was how I was trained."

"Well, I'm gonna have to un-train you, now aren't I?"

Yuffie leans back on the legs of the chair. Shelke already knew that could not end well.

"So – back to Weiss. And his junk. What about the front? Did you ever get a good look at the front?"

"That was Azul's territory. I already told you that. In fact, I believe that was the first thing I told you."

"Ah yes – that's how this all started. I suppose we have Azul's penis to thank for these lovely breakfast bonding moments, now don't we?"

"At least Azul wore a shirt. Weiss insisted on parading around half naked."

"You say this like it's a bad thing."

"It wasn't. For me. Rosso did not appreciate it, however. She went to confront him about it once. I believe that was the day she started wearing the metal uterus."

o-o-o-o

"So you say Rosso was married?"

"Allegedly. Perhaps he is still alive. Perhaps Azul's twin is still alive, as well."

"Think Nero is still alive?"

Shelke mutters something in Tsviet. It is none the complimentary piece, either.

"I mean – think about it. If Vinnie could survive getting impaled by Rosso thanks to Chaos, couldn't Nero survive getting impaled thanks to Oblivion?"

"What does this have to do with Rosso being married?"

"Nothing. Just saying." Pause. "Oh mi gawds! You don't she procreated before Deep Ground, do you? What if there's little minnie Rossos running around, bathing in blood and killing off lab rats? And – who the _hell_ would be insane enough to marry her?"

"…The same could be said for you."

o-o-o-o

"Azul is too big to have sex with anybody," Yuffie decides, since Shelke seems unwilling to do the feat for her. "Missionary Style, at least. I mean, maybe if the chick tops or something – but otherwise? He'd kill her. Crush her under the sheer weight of his body."

"He did always have a thing for bone crunching."

"As long as he didn't have a thing for boners. Which is something else entirely."

o-o-o-o

"You don't expect me to elaborate upon Hojo, do you?"

"…Actually, no. That one we can skip."

"Thank you."

o-o-o-o

"And as for Nero?"

"I believe he was already mentioned during our conversation concerning Rosso."

"You never told me what you think about it."

"We were never taught to think for ourselves, just to obey."

"Well then, obey me. How does that sound? I'll be the dominant to your submissive."

Yuffie is laughing hysterically at her own joke. Shelke doesn't possess the resources to comprehend the innuendo behind that one just yet. Yuffie takes heed of Shelke's vacant gaze and sighs.

"Looks like there's another thing Hojo forgot to mention."

o-o-o-o

"Our time is drawing to a close," Shelke notes, looking up at the clock face. After much practice (and patience on Cid's part) she is now able to tell time and read clocks without so much as a second thought.

"But I haven't paired you up with anyone yet!"

"That is perfectly alright."

"No – it's not. Not by my standards. I am the bomb at match making. Believe me."

"I try not to."

Yuffie is trying to conjure up an available counterpart as Shelke rises to leave the breakfast nook and venture elsewhere for the remainder of the day.

"I've got it!" she cries, right as Shelke is on her way out the door.

She turns around slowly. Ever. So. Slowly.

"…Yes?"

Yuffie is smirking deviously.

"Denzel!" she shrieks in merriment. "You guys are both the same size! And age!"

"_Nineteen_," Shelke hisses before leaving.

Well. At least she's beginning to show some emotion.

o-o-o-o

The lab is cold and silent – frigid like a tomb, only the person currently residing within its confines is anything but dead.

Shelke walks over to the mako tube, perspiration lingering on her brow, ice water pooling in the pit of her stomach. It has just occurred to her how gigantic her feet actually are – for she can hardly walk. This, coming from a girl who is, or was, capable of darting around at the speed of sound, leaving all those who opposed her coughing in the wake of her dust. She feels immobile, like she stepped into wet concrete and just sort of stayed there until it dried. Her bones are made of steel, her head a place of chaos and madness – and it all feels too much like home.

Deep Ground. It all feels too much like Deep Ground. That's what she meant.

Home did not feel like this.

Then again – how would she know?

Home is laying right in front of her, prone and comatose, cadaverous skin aimed towards the heavens, porcelain hands folded neatly by her sides. Home is smiling slightly, but only at the corners, and her eyes are still veiled by heavy lids that may never open again. Home's body is rigid, her complexion a rival to opals everywhere, and her glasses – hastily put back together after the incident, Shelke could tell – were slightly askew.

If she were awake, she would never have allowed for that.

Eventually, in what seems to take the better part of the afternoon, Shelke meanders over to the side of the tube housing her sister, and peers inside.

She is glad she had nothing to eat for breakfast. There was nothing to lose when she dry heaven onto the floor.

After regaining her composure, which took almost as much time as walking over there in the first place, Shelke finally finds her voice, and stares awkwardly at the sister who looks like no sister of hers at all – but rather some ghost of an imitation, an imposter, a mannequin – but most certainly not her sister.

"Yuffie says – "

Shelke's voice cracks. She continues.

"Yuffie says you need to wake back up. Yuffie says Reeve really needs to get laid."

She tries to smile – though why, she'll never know, it's not like her sister can see it. Maybe she wants to prove that she still can. Maybe she wants her sister to know that her sacrifice was not in vain. That maybe she really is able to grow and change and develop and become someone her sister would be proud of. Maybe.

She does this for five more seconds, and then runs to her room, faster than she has ever run in her entire life.

And then, after the pandemonium has died down, after all are gone and everything is back to the way it was, after the presence and after the words and after the pain – it is then, ever so quietly, that Shelua's hand slightly moves.

o-o-o-o

Author's Notes

o-o-o-o

Accreditation for "Nero's Survival Theory" goes completely and utterly to the Blacklight Forum of Shelkero – of which ReadingChick ultimately introduced me to – as she seems to have a penchant for doing with all things lately. XD

The "Aerith Is A Psuedo Prostitute Theory" goes to some random message board battle – concerning the ongoing fight of who is better – Tifa or Aerith. It was so totally ridiculous that I could not help but include it in my little fiction. I laughed so hard when I first stumbled onto the idea that I needed a staple gun to hold my sides together. Thus, I shall bestow such hilarities upon all of you. Please note I do not share in the opinion of Aerith's Secret Double Life – I just do it for the LOLZ.

(And consequentially blame Yuffie. Ha.)

More to come. Stay tuned.

And much, much, much love goes out to all of you.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown

_Conversations And Altercations Continued_

"I have come across an exceedingly vital quandary that requires a feasible explanation, lest life on this planet be eradicated as we know it."

Shelke, already realizing what Yuffie is trying to say without really saying it (while at the same time saying too much, what with her attempt to mimic Shelke and her astounding mental capacity for obscure vernacular) allots the appropriate amount of time to complete her dramatic sigh and says naught in response but, "Has not this planet been under threat of eradication numerous times?"

"Not like this, it hasn't. I'm tellin' ya, if we don't attend to this matter soon, we may have to evacuate Midgar … again. Or Edge – whatever the hell we decided to call it. I'm still not sure. Midgar Version 2.0 – The Alternate Adaptation! It's probably good Aerith ain't here to see what her beloved hometown has been reduced too – though for whatever reason, her flowers survived the explosion. Never mind the eighty five million buildings that cost an immeasurable amount of tax dollars to erect, edified in steel and metal and all sorts of things that aren't supposed to break – naw, they're all reduced to a pile of debris. But those flowers? Hell – her flowers are immaculate. Like, they're invincible flowers that are immune to any variation of the apocalypse Sephiroth, in his many incantations, has decided to throw at us. I think this is as spiteful as Aerith will allow herself to be – he can kill the girl, but the dandelions? Oh, no – she'll go and have a full blown shit fit if you so much as step on the foliage. Never mind she didn't look after her own body with the same fervor – she'd go limit break on your head if so much as thought about trampling on her petals."

"If the world is in imminent danger, why is it you seem to have the time to pontificate on the longevity of Aerith's gardening habits?"

"Oh, right – forgot about that. Well, it's not like this is the first time life as we know it is in danger of coming to an end – you learn to make due. Cloud already stole all the good dramatic one liners when it comes to profound words of wisdom one must mutter before engaging in the final battle. I'm left to pick up the slack and provide comic relief – Tifa serves as the stereotypical eye candy, Vinnie our very own home grown bishie, Red XIII is that mandatory party member who is not of the human persuasion – and therefore exempt from any and all crack pairings, unless you want to accredit Hojo with that phenomenon; he was the first to suggest breeding a Cetra with a … mountain lion – anyway, we've also got Cid, our resident chain smoking tar factory, Cait Sith, whose role I'm not quite sure was ever necessary – and I often wonder why we allowed him the honor of tagging along, and now we've got you, which – "

" … And to what do we owe the pleasure of this impending world domination?" Shelke interrupts, for she was in the middle of reading Proust, and wishes not to be interrupted.

"Tsk, Shelke – I said world eradication – not another slug fest for the role of dictator! That was so last year! And – and holy hell, are you doing something educational? No, Shelke, the last thing you need is access to more multi syllable vocabulary words. I am going to weep tears of blood if you do not place that novel down right this very instant. Yuffie Kisaragi does not approve."

"I assure you, I am trembling on the inside."

"Getting saucy, I see. Well, I suppose that is permissible. But not with me. I'm supposed to be in possession of your unyielding loyalty and eternal gratitude, what makes you think you have the right – "

"Is there an apocalypse looming on the distant horizon or not?"

"Well, I'm sure it's out there somewhere – but as of right now, the pivotal question that must be answered in order to ensure the survival of all that we love and hold dear: just who the hell taste tests blueberry condoms?"

There is a minute dedicated to the phenomenon of silence – which is truly a rare feat when Yuffie is taking up occupancy in a room.

She waits for Shelke to say something condescending, and when she doesn't, Yuffie decides it's time to continue.

"I mean, really. How do they know if they succeeded in this marketing ploy? Do they put 'em on ice pops and go to town? Hand out samples under the guise of bubble gum at the local supermarket? Employ the use of lab rats to see if ingesting a flavored condom for recreational purposes has any dire side effects? And, for the love of all that is sacred and holy, what are the nutritional factors that coincide with the indulgence of blueberry condoms? I mean, none of this would bother me, except I was buying some mandatory pity party ice cream – I got turned down again, did I tell you? – and I saw some oddly colored Trojans off in the distance. Well, actually, they were situated in the near by corner. But 'off in the distance' sounded better. Anyway - the entire mishap was very reminiscent of Azul, because thanks to you and your fruit loop organization that would be more at home in my cereal bowl than a battle field, these thoughts find their way into my head more readily than I would like to admit, especially in light of the fact one could argue our entire relationship began in part due to Azul The Cerulean's massive cougar sack – and so I made my way over to these highly suspect Trojans, because I thought blue balls were something best avoided, not actively sought after, lest you be under the mercy of some author who is in the process of fulfilling a kink meme, and you know what I discovered? It would actually be cheaper to buy myself a box of flavored Trojans to snack on as opposed to a carton of rocky road ice cream. That's just wrong. It's a sad, sad statement when our economic state is that of offering blueberry condoms as a plausible substitute for a gallon of ice cream. And you know what's worse? I actually contemplated which one would wreck less havoc on my wallet. But I just couldn't risk Vincent walking in on me saturating myself in a sea of my own tears while mindlessly nibbling away on the likes of multicolored latex. How would I even go about explaining that? If Zack were still alive, he would totally condone such an experiment. I can see it now. He'd probably try to buy stock in the damn thing. And then he'd find some obscure way to trick Aerith into trying the feat as well. And she'd be all, 'My, this is delightful, just what flavor is this strangely textured ice pop? Did you forget to remove the wrapping? It seems to be of a different consistency than I am used to.' And then we'd both laugh our asses off. Gawds. It sucks he had the gumption to up and die. I really wish he could see me at a stage other than nine. But no, he had to play hero – for Cloud, no less – and in his wake we're left with emo sulker extraordinaire, when we could have had Zack, SOLDIER First Class, and fellow supporter of blueberry condoms."

Here Yuffie remembers it is necessary to breathe in between monologues. She forgot to plan out transitions in which she could procure a breath of air.

"Shelkster? Are you even listening to me?"

"No," she offers honestly, now closing her book. "You took off on something I did not deem to be as life threatening as you originally lead me to believe. So I took the initiative to finish my book in the stead of listening to you. It was a course of action that promised many more benefits. I can now move on to analyzing the works of Shakespeare. I hear he is quite gifted when it comes to the penning of iambic pentameter."

"Okay – did you, like, not hear me when I said BLUEBERRY CONDOMS? What is wrong with you? That's a frickin' hilarious concept, and you're telling me you'd rather wade through some dead guy's vast collection of word vomit? Shelke, I've taken a crap in the bathroom after eating a bowl of alphabet soup and found more appeasing sentences floating around in the toilet bowl. Why don't you go and analyze that, huh? I'm not dead – and I'm also the owner of much more sex appeal. And … blueberry condoms! What the hell? This is, like, a contender for the next Noble Peace Prize – I can just see Kadaj being totally mollified by the bestowal of blueberry flavored rubbers. He'd forget all about world domination and blow drying his hair and trying to mimic the bad ass of the century – maybe we can even convert him to good guy status via the magical ways of Yuffie's Transition Program. Do you think you'd be cool engaging in verbal smackdowns with him, too? It'll be like a breakfast orgy – I can practically taste the possibilities."

"I'd rather keep you to myself, if that's alright."

And Yuffie has picked now as the time to swallow nothing the wrong way and choke on it. After she is done gagging on air, she checks to make sure he tongue did not make the descent down her throat she thought it did, and opts to sit down before she takes a nose dive to the floor.

"You hypocritical little citrus fruit – I should kick your neon colored ass all the way to next week. Don't ignore my tirades and then go on to flatter me! Pick a side, woman! Be consistent!"

"Can't we just pretend I am in the possession of multiple personalities?"

"Well, you kind of already are – right? What with Lucrecia still taking up some of the real estate that is left in your brain. Maybe you should start renting out part of your frontal lobe to various other psychopaths via the wonders of Synaptic Net Diving. I mean, I know you lost your precious terminal, but Cid oughta be able to whip _something_ up with all that metal junk he's got piled in the corner of his ship."

"One melodramatic female is enough, thank you very much. I do not want to harbor various angsting lovers within the confines of my skull. The wailing would get to be too loud. I may lose the ability to function."

"I love how you say this with a totally straight face. Are you trying to be funny?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains it."

"I would like to receive another tally, if you don't mind. I am trying to accrue as many of these vertical lines as I can – for they seem to be indicative of my progress."

Yuffie finds it strange she was able to pick up on that, for while she had openly added to this agglomeration of 'vertical lines' while in Shelke's presence, she wasn't sure if the girl happened to be privy to the weekly comparisons she and Vincent tried to draw based solely on the number of Shelke Funnies the ninja had taken the time to record. Vincent always found meticulous record keeping a commendable course of action, and analyzing said meticulous records once they were … kept? … was a habit he had picked up from his days of being a Turk. Reno may be incapable of counting past ten due to his one hand that Yuffie swears has fixated itself to his crotch, but the rest were intellectually gifted – or so it seemed. Allegedly Reno, too, retained the ability to complete various actions that would require a double digit IQ, but Yuffie likes to think he made it on the team due to a generous helping of sexual favors and bribery through monetary funds he obtained via identity theft. She checks her various credit cards daily in response to such self devised theories. Vincent tells her she is allotting the man too much credit (no pun intended) and Reno does not have the means, or the motivation, to access Yuffie's credit card.

"Besides," he'll sometimes add, when he deems it fitting to make a wayward stab at the comedic, "who would want to steal your identity, anyway? If I was tasked with the goal of becoming someone else, I would not have 'The White Rose Of Wutai' placed high on my list."

"That was a good one, Vincent Valentine. I'll let the crickets carry on with their choir of awkward chirping and pretend what you just said was actually funny."

"It was," he will argue pettily, and then they'd both go back to dissecting Shelke's Funny Tally, which really was comprised of various vertical slashes, for Yuffie never remembered to cross over at the interval of five.

"Um. Well. Yeah. But you can't _ask_ for a tally, moron. It has to be offered."

Shelke has a hard time believing Yuffie actually thinks she doesn't notice her scribbling something into her lap. Oh, what ever could that something be?

"I was, um, texting Cloud with my cell phone," Yuffie offers, for Shelke has a rather intense stare, especially when she forgoes the option of mitigating it by blinking.

"He should not engage in such activities while driving – besides, I thought you did not favor him."

"I … don't. And Cloud totally pulls over whenever he gets a call – Tifa makes sure of it. I think she actually installed some hidden camera device she paid Denzel to set up – I asked her if she suspected foul play, and she looked at me all funny like and said, 'Um, no – I just want to make sure he doesn't text and drive.' Which I find humorous, because she's totally alright with him _slashing the crap out of people_ while driving – but texting through exerting the use of his thumbs? Naw, he was never good at multi-tasking."

Pause.

"I think he actually has calluses on his hand due to the copious amounts of time he spends over extending his fingers – because gods forbid he take the initiative to actually talk. It takes nothing short of a crow bar to dislodge words from that man's mouth. I think they've adhered themselves to the side of his throat. But none of that matters when it comes to those lovely nine digits he chooses to utilize in the stead of his vocal chords."

Here Yuffie adds, as an after thought, "… what a loser," because Shelke has yet to blink, and Yuffie wonders if her eyes will dry out due to the rotating fan that is situated above them.

"And what, pray tell, did you have to say to Cloud that was of such importance and secrecy?"

"Um – nothing, of course," Yuffie says in tandem with a synthetic smile. "I just know he favors the vibrate feature and wanted to be a pervert and see if I could catch him in the act."

" … Act? Is he participating in a play of some sort?"

"Shelke, please. Enough with the Shakespeare. I was referring to the act I would have thus provoked through the sending – and consequential vibration – of this totally pointless message."

Shelke isn't catching on.

"Never mind. I'll check the hidden camera on my way up the stairs, see if I managed to set anything off."

And here she stifles the desire to laugh at her own wording – because she honestly didn't plan that one in advance. But now that it's been said, she has decided to pretend as though she did.

"Indeed," Shelke finally settles on saying, and then – and only then – does she finally grant her eyes the luxury of a blink, which seems to be an optional feature as opposed to the subconscious action most people would categorize it under.

"The reasoning behind your early appearance continues to elude me," Shelke ventures on, checking the clock to make sure her observation is accurate. "You have never graced me with your presence at this time in the morning – you remain in slumber for at least an hour longer."

"Yes – about that."

"Do not say you arose early to inform me of this nonsensical Condom Conspiracy."

Yuffie is scribbling into her lap again.

"What _are_ you doing?"

Ah – Shelke actually tried to emit some emphasis on the inquisition at hand. Improvement.

"Er … texting Cloud. Again."

"I refuse to believe you have this much to say concerning Cloud."

"Shelkie, I've been known to talk to brick walls."

"Yes. But not Cloud."

" … Hell, Cloud _is_ a brick wall."

"See? I still sense animosity – you are hiding something from me. I demand to know what this something is." Here she tries to rake her memory for an appropriate Yuffie addendum. "So help me gods," she ultimately settles on, and waits for her partner to willingly comply.

"That sounds just down right creepy coming from you – gawds, don't do it again!"

Oh. Hell. She's smirking.

Not Yuffie. Shelke.

"Make me," she states simplistically.

In the wake of this proposal, Yuffie can do little but massage her temples and utter none the complimentary piece in her native tongue.

Which is a stupid course of action – because Shelke is fluent in several hundred different languages.

o-o-o-o

"I kind of showed up in the form of a warning."

"A preface?" Shelke tries, and Yuffie – for the life of her – can not figure out why Shelke's robotic mind is stuck in THEATRICAL mode. Musicals break every law of physics known to mankind and can not even _begin_ to be defended in terms of logic.

Which is exactly why Shelke should shy away from such things – not dive into them and then proceed to pick apart their innovative syntax … which may or may not be foretold through a various collection of octaves. Perhaps she was thinking of starting a techno/trance band – and Yuffie doesn't want to know just what she's got going on as far as names are concerned.

It would involve colors, no doubt.

Yuffie is rather fond of Fruit Loops, now that she thinks about it.

And Weiss was, for all intents and purposes, quite fruity. And possibly incestual. But Shelke's face turned funny colors when Yuffie proposed this possibility. Most likely because it involved the defamation of her precious Nero. Gods Forbid.

"Since when did you become a theater dork? Leave the dramatics to Cloud, he's fond of situational lighting and extended amounts of poignant silence. And he likes to play dress up – Tifa told me. This one time, probably before you were, like, born – "

"A preface is not a theatrical term, Miss Kisaragi. It's – "

"Awesome. Listen, I'm here in … whatever form you choose to see me … to tell you that the Turks are stopping by – well, more specifically Reno and Rude – and Vincent is worried about this, that, and the other thing … I dunno. You're fragile, you're impressionable, you're vulnerable … whatever. He told me to make sure I don't leave you alone with them."

"Does he not deem me capable of kicking both of their asses simultaneously?"

Yuffie blinks.

"Were you listening to Cid again?"

"Yes. He is full of … theatrics. I find him to be much more suitable for the title of Drama Whore than you suspect Cloud is. Cloud does not bother to make half of Cid's grandiose hand gestures while reiterating past events and the like."

"Cloud doesn't bother to drink himself into liver failure, either. I'm beginning to think Cid is immortal. But not the point. And when did you start using the term _drama whore_?"

"Is that not an appropriate word in this setting?"

"No, it's appropriate, but you pronounce it like a medical term. It's supposed to be – oh, never mind. Look, Reno can be kind of a horn dog, so just tone down the intellect and try to maintain that nine year old façade you've got going on, okay? Like – acting. You're into this acting thing, am I correct?"

"I find the symbolism quite intriguing."

"Right. Whatever. Just play dumb blonde lolita. Let me do all the talking."

"That will help in conveying the ambiance of … dumb."

Shelke's nose twitches, almost as though she is unaccustomed to resorting to such simplistic words as: dumb.

"The ambiance of dumb? Shelke, what the hell – I'm calling bull shit on that one. There is no … _ambiance_ … to dumb! I think you just tried to use a word you didn't know! Ha! Thought I was too stupid to pick up on it, huh? Well, sucks to be you – because Yuffie knows when she smells bull shit, and she just smelled some serious Shelkster Shitting. Nice try, though. Commendable."

"Three syllables – I did not think you capable of utilizing such a word."

"I see what you did there – you tried to shift the focus onto me! Yeah, well, if it's not shiny, I don't care. And – dude – maybe you should stop counting how many _syllables_ people are using and try to pay attention to what they're actually saying. Like, materia. That's three syllables. I say that one all the time. You just don't listen."

Shelke is too busy counting out the sound on her index to supply a response.

"Now there is a sight to behold. Shelke. Counting on her fingers."

"I am trying to determine how many syllables materia is comprised of. When Rosso said the aforementioned, it did not come out that way."

"Don't compare me to Rosso - gawds Shelkie! What is _wrong_ with you today? You're a whole different breed of weird! Is something bugging you? Like a virus? No – really. I mean an actual virus. Do we need to install something or plug you into an outlet? Did you come packaged with a USB port? Do you need a flash drive? Should we run Norton Spy Sweeper? You don't operate on Vista, do you? Cuz I'm totally down grading you to XP – Vista makes me see funny colors, though Denzel is pretty apt in negotiating its various forms of interface." Yuffie pauses, waiting to see if she is deemed worthy of laurels for using words like _apt_ and _interface_. Apparently she is not. Which kind of annoys her, considering she spent half of the previous afternoon memorizing flash cards with definitions scrawled across them. "Granted, he's still a little pissed off that I tried to drink his fish tank – I don't know why, it's not like he can't just go out and buy more water. Or wait for a rain storm if he's low on allowance. I was _trying_ to get drunk. Am I the only one who does these things?"

" … Ingest fish tank water?"

"No! Try and get drunk! Stop making a point of emphasizing my mistakes!"

"I ignore most of them, actually. I find them too numerous to keep track of."

Yuffie, who has to swallow whatever come back she was originally going to default to, furrows her brow and realizes, for the first time, that Shelke is purposely avoiding eye contact this morning. (Save for when she wanted to extract information – then she reverted back to that creepy thing she does in order to elicit whatever she desires.) But right now she was busy investigating the floor. After that, she moved on to her shoe. Next – the pepper shaker.

What the hell?

"Shelkie?" Yuffie petitions, voice only slightly louder than a whisper – something Yuffie is simply incapable of, hence making this the closest (and therefore quietest) she has ever said anything in her entire life. "What's wrong?"

Shelke's nose twitches. Again. She was never trained in the art of lying. Such things were studied through various assessments of Hojo and Weiss – who made lying seem almost an alternate way of speaking instead of the evil Shelke now deemed it to be. Hence why she was having such trouble cultivating it.

"Nothing."

Yuffie blinks.

She wants to say: 'Shelkster Shit!' but refrains.

Actually – no, never mind. She really does manage to refrain.

"Remember how I referenced my keen sense of … olfactory awareness?"

It took her half an hour to memorize that word. And five flash cards – she kept spelling it wrong. She even went so far as to accuse Vincent of trying to sabotage her plans to further her intelligence. "You gave me a mock dictionary laden with erroneous phrases because you fear my acquirement of mental acuity!"

To this, Vincent offered a simplistic, "Yes, I can see that."

It was meant to be ironic, because that truly was the most stimulating sentence to ever pour forth from Yuffie Kisaragi's mouth, and it was then he realized how important this activity was to her - and consequentially - how serious she was taking her role as Shelke's newfound caretaker.

Yuffie – and to this day Vincent still can not believe he bore witness to this – actually began to tear up as she crumpled to the floor, wildly grousing through her decks of flash cards, all of which she managed to drop, muttering incoherencies that went along the lines of, "That sentence was right! I know that sentence was right! I spent hours perfecting it! Dammit! Hours, I tell you! Hours!"

Vincent was unaware if she was truly accosting him, for she was saying such things in a barely audible manner.

"Yuffie," he tried, but her name was rendered obsolete, for she would not answer to it – and he began to wonder if she had even heard it in the first place.

"Yuffie," he tried again. "Webster's Dictionary … " he was about to say: does not specialize in being wrong – but changed his mind and went with, "has been known to make typos on numerous occasions."

"Really?" Yuffie sniffed, craning her neck to look up at him through her disheveled bangs. "So … so it's not me?"

"No, it's not you."

"T-that's good."

Did she just sniffle?

"B-but how am I gonna know when I've encountered a typo? I w-won't know if I'm studying it right!"

It is here Vincent determined he had successfully been restored to mortal status, because his heart actually skipped a beat, where as it had previously ceased to participate in the activity of beating altogether.

He was going to regret his next sentence for the rest of his days. Which, apparently, were now numbered. That was an odd epiphany. No matter. He could brood over it later – after attending to Yuffie and making sure her ego was properly resuscitated to its former glory.

"You can consult me on the … ambiguity of any words that seem suspect."

"Really? You mean it?"

If she were not in the process of hiccupping, he would have said: no, I was just kidding.

Because that was the kind of humor Yuffie usually inspired.

But things being what they were, he chose to consent to this arrangement with a swift incline of his head, and decided it was best if he remain speechless.

He could not risk hiccupping, after all.

Not that he would – but seeing two girls who, once stripped of their multitude of defenses and bravado and pyrotechnics, were both equally as lost in their search to find themselves (yet they had somehow managed to find refuge in each other) made him acutely aware of a feeling he didn't know he was still capable of exuding. It was neither pity or charity – rather empathy, in a very potent form.

He remembers being this lost.

Granted, he did not exhibit such over misplaced flash cards and fabricated spelling errors to be found in a world renowned dictionary – but no matter. Yuffie did not extract herself from society and sleep in a coffin for sixty some years, either.

He figures they are both guilty as charged.

"Yes," he ultimately concludes.

. . . that was all she needed to hear, so that was all that needed to be said.

Vincent embarked on Operation: EMO sometime later, and Yuffie proceeded to sort her flashcards out in a timely and organized matter. The thought of color coding crossed her mind – but she had a newfound (dis)appreciation for the color wheel these days. In its stead, she opted to go with ancient hieroglyphics and sacred cetra symbols.

Aerith would be proud.

"Olfactory Awareness?" Shelke repeats, sounding genuinely confused.

Yuffie wishes she had caught that little nuance on tape. Or taken a very rapid succession of polaroids. Or something. Anything. She needed something tangible that would hold up in court. Not that she planned on taking Shelke to court (we'll ignore the fact she tried to kill Vincent, because everyone's tried to kill Vincent at one point or another – some are just more successful than others) but rather for her own personal satisfaction, or the evening debates that were slowly becoming ritual where she and Vinnie would huddle in the den on the very same couch and analyze Shelke Tallies and Shelke Funnies and Shelke Vocabularies until Yuffie went into a catatonic state due to the strenuous application of her rejuvenated brain cells.

This is when Vincent usually carries her to bed.

He figures it is best she not know of this.

Thus: he has convinced the ninja she is very deft in the intricacies of sleepwalking down convoluted corridors and the like. She believed him. And he left it at that.

"Yes," Yuffie says in response to Shelke's previous inquisition. "That means I am very gifted when it comes to detecting things through my keen sense of smell."

"And what is it that you are currently in the process of . . . smelling?"

"Shelkster Shit," comes the simplistic response.

She then takes her usual seat at the breakfast nook.

"And I'm not moving my skinny ninja ass until you drop the . . . _the façade_ . . . and tell me what's really going on. I'm not as oblivious as you may think."

"It seems I have underestimated you," Shelke replies, when in reality – she felt the exact opposite. But she didn't know how to articulate such things, so she decided they were best left unsaid. "How much time until these . . . Turks show up?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll bolt lock the door if I have to."

Shelke arches a brow.

"Okay, this is no longer a conversation. Think of it as an interview. An interrogation, even! You are my prisoner of war and I must choke the answers out of you if that's what you want!"

"Allegedly the Turks could aid you with that."

Silence.

"On second thought – to hell with the dead bolt. I'll go outside and friggin' usher them in. Even hand out complimentary beverages. Not that they wouldn't just up and steal them without asking, but whatever. It's the thought that counts, right? We'll torture you together! Oh, this will be so much fun!"

As Yuffie prances outside to meet this duo of dubious nature, Shelke can not find the gumption necessary to tell Yuffie that she would much rather confide in her personally – for she is the closest thing she has ever had to a friend.

And given what's currently going through her head?

A friend is something she direly needs, not some lofty privilege she thought only those of immense power were entitled to.

Complimentary or not.

. . . She suspects she used that word wrong.

She goes to ask Yuffie, but she is already gone, and Shelke finds herself alone.

Only this time the solitude hurts more than she could have ever possibly imagined.

o-o-o-o

Author's Addendum

o-o-o-o

Who says you can't resuscitate a composition that has been dead for over four years?

Actually, it was never dead – simply dormant – but given the time that has passed between updates, most of you have probably already attended its hypothetical funeral.

I apologize if my continuation renders your current eulogy inaccurate, or consequentially spams your inbox with heraldings of an update you had no intentions of ever receiving.

Dedicated To

Reading Chick and HopeIsLost

… wherever they may be …


	7. Chapter 7

Memoires Of A Mental Breakdown

_Conversations And Altercations Continued_

Reno arrives late, because he calls it style.

Rude arrives late, because he calls it apathy.

Either serves in the stead of a plausible explanation.

Thus, this leaves a Tsviet and a Ninja at the mercy of each other, and if things go as planned, a common conversation could grow quite epic.

"We really need to hook you up," Yuffie amends out of nowhere, opposite the breakfast nook. It is not longer breakfast, but the nook still stood, and the sight of it was slowly becoming more and more sacred as time sped forward and Yuffie's Transitional Program (Operation: EMO) continued to take place.

"With what?" Shelke ventures, currently disengaged from reading her novel of choice.

"No – I mean, well, yeah – with a guy. Hang out a little, is all."

"Where I come from hanging is a form of execution."

Yuffie mentally chastises herself for being so irrevocably dense. Needless to say, she does a lot of chastising. Oh, sure, she'll say what she wants to anyway, but that doesn't stop her from being mildly contrite.

Besides, Shelke was in a funk and therefore needed to be saved from the doldrums of mediocrity.

"Haven't we trod upon this vein conversation before? I seem to recall questioning Cloud's ubiquitous sexuality."

"Eh – never mind him. I have a better idea."

Apprehension hangs in the air so thick it is practically tangible.

"And what idea would that be?" Shelke finally queries, seeing as though Yuffie didn't have plans to move anytime soon.

"Okay, you ready? Cuz this is gonna be a total mind screw. Just letting you know."

"I cease to see how this could be beneficial to my current state of being."

Yuffie rolls her eyes dramatically.

"I don't care what you cease to see, just hear me out, alright? Now get this: Tsviets vs Turks."

Silence.

She says as much with a conspiratorial grin that Shelke does not seem keen on returning.

"Versus? Is there going to be another war?" Then, in a slightly higher octave: "Will I be forced to fight Tsviet members again?"

"Don't get you panties in a twist, Shelke – (I mean, you do wear panties, don'tchya?) – There'll be another world catastrophe before you know it. You can fight plenty non-Tsviets then. Maybe even a Genesis clone or two, if you're lucky."

"You are failing to put my mind at ease."

"That's because I wasn't trying too! You'll never face Deep Ground soldiers again, Shelkster. Vinnie and I eradicated them all. And somewhere in between Cloud road a motorcycle he named Fenrir and Tifa abused all of Vinnie's cell phone privileges. But that's beside the point. Though not completely."

"Still ill at ease."

"Okay, how's this? You'll never fight DG members again because I simply won't allow it. Better?"

"No."

"You really are a pain in your metal plated ass sometimes, ya know?"

Yuffie tries some deep breathing to keep herself from summoning her throwing darts. She'd have to leave the room to get them, but no matter. Extended bathroom breaks compliments of diarrhea (all falsehoods, of course) usually stopped the perpetrator from asking any more questions.

"Okay. Fine. One last time: You'll never have to fight DG alone because not only will I not allow it – which I wouldn't, unless they offered up Kinghts of the Round materia, then our friendship is officially void – but they won't, so don't worry – I'd be fighting right along beside you. How's that?"

"Better. Marginally. Still room for improvement, though"

"You'd just say that no matter what I told you."

"That is correct."

Shelke _almost almost almost_ smiles, but not quite.

Yuffie feels defeat in its ineffective wake.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, hooking you up non-executioner style. With Turks."

"With?"

"Yeah; Vinnie's still mourning over a woman who couldn't even bother to keep her ponytail straight, Cloud is off having a tryst with his current automobile, or buster sword, or whatever, Cid is hooked on Shera harder than he's hooked on nicotine, Red is … decidedly not human, Denzel really _is_ nine years old, and Barrett would crush you whenever he'd try to top."

Shelke stares, unblinking.

"What do you mean by – "

"Nothing! I stepped over the mental imagery line and now even _I_ can't un-see it. No reason to plague you, too."

"So . . . Turks?" Shelke ventures, trying to bring the ever meandering conversation back to its straight forward pipe line.

"Yes," Yuffie responds, now all serious business. "I've decided to look into the Turks for last minute, desperate, personal options."

"Why is my marital status considered desperate?"

"I'm teaching you to be a girl, alright? Not a robot. A girl. And girls have boyfriends!"

Yuffie leers into Shelke's perplexed expression, the one she reserves for when she is attempting the feat of negotiating slang phrases she is simply unfamiliar with.

"You follow?"

"… So far," Shelkes responds, though not without trepidation.

"Here, I made some flashcards."

Yuffie pulls out a handful of thick, well thumbed through collection of postage size pieces of paper.

"I adamantly refuse to flash any of them."

"Ohmigawds Shelke! No on is requesting that you remove that metal bra or that pink catholic school uniform you sometimes prance around in to show character development!"

Shelke stifles a sigh.

"Okay, back to business," Yuffie prattles on. "These are just their names. Male Turks only – unless you want to try a different route for more options; ha – written in magic marker with cute little candid photos in place. I'm gonna flip them all upside down – then you pick one – and then we'll discuss all probable outcomes."

More blank stares are delivered across the mahogany table.

"This was a very time consuming endeavor, I'll have you know. Do you know just _how_ _hard_ it is to get a candid shot without Reno's tongue hanging out? _Gawds_."

"But what if I do not desire a mate?"

"Too bad. You're getting one."

It is then Yuffie looks at Shelke, who is currently lost in some private reverie Yuffie's note cards, no matter how well crafted, or intended, can not seem to penetrate.

"Aw, Shelke . . . we can do this later, if you want."

See? Yuffie _does_ possess some social acuity. She just chose to ignore it. Most of the time.

"I've already lost one too many," Shelke finally offers.

Dead air hangs between them. Enough to hang a painting on.

"Like, a singular one? The One?"

Yuffie is trying very hard to be consoling. It is nonetheless endearing in all of its steeped mediocrity.

"Perhaps."

"Are you intentionally being vague?"

"No," Shelke replies, after giving the question some thought. "Not intentionally. It's just that no one had ever bothered to play card games with me before. Especially ones involving . . . prizes."

Yuffie fidgets. Not her normal fidget. A super uncomfortable fidget. The closer she gets to Shelke, the harder it hits her when a somber mood bestows itself upon her companion.

"I just thought – well, you know – maybe you'd get along with a Turk, yeah? You both dealt with various forms of Shina-Ra, the militia, blood baths, and strange costume choices."

"Is that really necessary criteria for a selection?"

"Oh stop being a dumb ass and pick a card already!"

Shelke debates longer than she should.

"They're all flipped over, Shelkie. Staring at 'em won't move 'em."

Shelke continues to stare, regardless.

"You . . . miss your old team mates?" Yuffie finally asks in order to assuage her companion.

"No." Shelke's voice resonates so clearly it cuts through the bone and into the marrow. "They are no longer my team mates. You are my team mates now."

Her eyes remain fixated upon the note cards.

"But these men are not my team mates, either."

"Well, it's not like you're gonna run off and marry one of them. Just … have a little bit of fun. Nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Depends on how you look at it, I suppose." And then: "But how do I know to trust them?"

"You don't," Yuffie replies, the very epitome of nonchalance. "That's what makes them Turks."

". . . And you thought this was a good setup for me?"

"I am fairly certain I mentioned _last minute_ and _desperate_ in my previous monologue."

Shelke, whether out of frustration or a sudden burst of caffeinated energy, thrusts one arm forward and grabs a card at random.

"Good. Twelve step program. Now, let's turn it over and see what it says!"

"I'd rather not."

"You have to get out of your comfort zone, Shelkie. It builds character."

"And when is the last time _you_ ever did anything outside of _your_ comfort zone?"

Shelke was once again showing trace amounts of inflection in her voice. More improvement. Social Skills: LVL UP.

"Everywhere is my comfort zone," Yuffie breezily replies.

"Yes. Of this we are certain."

"I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter! Just read me the damn card already!"

Shelke turns the paper over.

"Reno," she states, the name foreign in her mouth.

"That! That doesn't count!" Yuffie all but yells. She flies across the table and snaps the note card baring his visage back into her grubby little hands.

"You do realize this leaves me with approximately three other alterative solutions," Shelke notes. "And why so protective of Reno?"

"I don't give two shits about Reno, I'm looking out for you. Your mental well being. Trust me on this one."

Shelke sighs. "No elaboration?"

"He's an ass."

"Then why did you put him in the deck?"

"Because without him the pickings would look even slimmer and I didn't want you to be discouraged."

"But why are the pickings so few?"

"Cuz most of them are dead."

". . . Oh."

"Hence: Reno. He was just filler. You weren't supposed to actually PICK that one."

"I thought you told me to – "

"Ignore me when I'm inaccurate. Things work better this way."

Shelke's eyes revert back to the note cards.

"I suppose I must engage in this activity again, correct?"

"Yeah. I'd highly recommend it."

Shelke sighs, picks up another so-called 'random' card, and fiddles with it uncomfortably before turning it around.

And here is where Yuffie should have yelled. Here is where she should have flew across the table. Here is where she should have used her ninja skills to pin the resident note card to a wall backwards, just to save Shelke the strife of reading it. Yuffie saw what would happen before it did, for she saw the back of the card.

And there wasn't anything she could do.

Save the world? No problem.

Defeat Sephiroth? Eh, why not?

Help Vincent eradicate a group of questionable psycho paths? Sure, point the way.

But this.

This was something she could not protect Shelke from.

Shelke's face turned ashen we she finally flipped the card over to surmise its contents.

A milky sheen spread across her features, the veins in her head protruding only slightly, but the torment – the real torment – could be seen in her eyes. For they were glowing orange. Which isn't a thing eyes are supposed to do. Not hers. Not anymore.

Before Yuffie can explain herself, scream "It wasn't me, I didn't do it!" Shelke was running at super sonic speed (another feat left laden since the eradication of Deep Ground) to her room, slamming the door behind her so hard the windows rattled.

Yuffie sat there, stunned, unable to compose herself.

She was unsure. How do you approach an extremely skilled assassin who was currently showcasing traits that had been dormant for months? How do you reason with a trained killer who wants nothing more than to kill you?

"That was priceless," came a voice from behind the bar.

Yuffie twirls around and is met with the ever smirking face of the infamous Reno.

"You gotta be shitting me."

" . . . Is the best you have to offer, Kisaragi?"

"Hell no. But you don't deserve any better."

Her anger is caught between general confusion and extreme distress. She does not wear this emotion well.

Reno extricates himself from behind the booze and takes up residency in what was previously Shelke's seat.

"Don't sit there. Your ass isn't worthy."

"I sit where I please, Kisaragi. Don't tempt me."

Yuffie glowers something dark and moody, but Reno couldn't care less.

"So, what then? You were just . . . hiding behind the bar all this time?"

Yuffie's anger was beginning to fester now. It started by taking refuge in her chest, but slowly spiraled outward into an inferno of agitation. Her very finger tips were tingling.

"If you recall, and here I am assuming that you don't, you left the door wide open when you thought you heard me knocking."

"So you really were knocking."

Reno doesn't even bother to nod. He does not wish to exert that much effort.

" . . . asshole."

"Again: I was expecting something a little more profane."

But Yuffie was preoccupied. She wasn't thinking of all the ways there were to eviscerate Reno the Turk. She was trying to come up with solutions for Shelke.

"You do realize she was just beginning to trust people, right?"

Reno shrugs mildly. "Yeah. What of it?"

"You just fucked up six months of hard work, dammit!"

"It was just a prank – calm down. Deep breaths, Kisaragi. Or should I get you a paper bag?"

"Plastic, preferably. Because then I could at least smother you with it."

Yuffie is not outwardly exploding. She is polishing her gem of hatred internally. Making it as shiny and potent as humanely possible. She'll get him back for what he did. She will. Just not now. She had different priorities. Mainly: Shelke.

"You temperament seems much too mild. Can't we at least fight or something? If you care about her so much, why are you not lunging for my jugular?"

"Because I care about her far more than I care about you – which was not at all until you pulled this lame ass stunt, so now you're in the negative numbers – and I'm trying to harness my wrath until it becomes appropriate to unleash it down your throat."

"Mature logic for a Wutai Flea. Are you sure Shelke's not the only one learning new tricks?"

"She's not a dog, dumb ass."

"But you train her like one."

Yuffie's face was changing color and her torso kept involuntarily cramping with the effort of keeping her rage at bay. She's too emotional for this feat, and she knows it, but she'll be damned if she doesn't try.

"How … how did you know to write that . . . heinous thing on the note card?"

"I'm a Turk, remember? I have my ways." He then pauses before saying: "New words too, I see. Heinous. That's a keeper."

"You don't see shit, Reno."

"I see what I want to."

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

"See what you want to? A damaged girl running to her bedroom in tears?"

"I was sent here on a mission."

"What mission?"

". . . When did this become an interrogation?"

"When you pissed off my best friend, that's when!"

And here is where Yuffie Kisaragi loses it. She's so caught up in her own inner turmoil that she completely over looks that fact she just referred to Shelke as her best friend.

"I mean, just who do you think you are? What mission could possibly involve – oh, no. No, no, and no. Just no. You came here to see if Shelke still "had potential." Am I right?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't say you were wrong."

"You intentionally pissed her off just so you could see if her mako shit kicked in!"

"It did," Reno offers. "Mission accomplished."

"But why? To what end? And why now? Why ever? Just – WHY?"

"I told you, it's nothing personal. It was a mission. And now it's complete. I thank you for your time."

"Don't thank me for anything – you used her! You used my friend!"

"Standard military procedure."

"Stand military procedure my ass! You're not gonna weaponize her, are you? Because I promised her that wouldn't happen! _I promised_! And you can't take her away from me – I won't let you! Shelke is mine, go find your own!"

"Actually, we were simply thinking about cloning her."

"_Simply_ thinking? And _cloning_? Didn't you have a hard enough time when Genesis pulled this shit? Why don't you dumb ass Turks ever learn?"

"Quit with the waterworks. I'm immune to histrionics."

"And now you're stealing her vocabulary, too! Just . . . leave her alone, alright? Is that too much to ask?"

"We will once we get a blood sample."

"The only blood that will be spilt is your own."

"You yourself said you wanted to see Tsviets vs Turks. Am I correct?"

"Well . . . yeah, but not like this!"

"So there you have it."

"I don't have anything. I don't even have answers. And you're not leaving until I get them. Stop sitting there with that god forsaken smirk on your face, Reno. It's making my stomach wretch. I'm gonna dry heave all over this nice mahogany table Tifa just installed, and knowing her, she'll probably make you clean it up. Hell, I'd make you clean it up. I'm actually inspired to vomit just so you CAN clean it up."

"I wouldn't."

"I'd make you."

"Ha; like your making me explain myself now?"

"Ya know, there was a reason I pulled your note card out of the stack."

Yuffie makes a mental note to carry around her throwing knives from here on out, even at the breakfast nook. Now there was no telling who would come knocking at the door looking for blood samples from her best friend and then hide behind the bar to sabotage her dating note cards.

Right when Yuffie was about to revert to her own two fists, Vincent appears – seemingly out of nowhere, as he is wont to do – bearing Cerberus and a giant golden claw that looks even more dramatic in low lighting.

"We have all the explanation we need," Vincent says, pointing the barrel of his gun at the waggish Turk in question. "You came here under false pretenses."

"And so what if I did?" Reno queries, hands lace behind his head as he tips backwards in his chair. "You know how these things work, Vincent. You were one of us before you were ever one of them."

"He's just full of pithy sayings today," Yuffie offers, clandestinely grateful for Vinnie and his beloved Cerberus.

"You are no longer welcome here, Reno. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you."

"But I didn't get my blood sample!" Reno cries in mock mimicry.

"And you won't be getting one anytime soon, I assure you."

"We're not the only ones out there that want to use her," Reno says as he stands up, finally taking a hint. The gun probably helped. "Other organizations – worse organizations – are becoming aware of The Transparent's whereabouts. If you look at it that way, we're actually the good guys."

"He made her cry, Vinnie," Yuffie blurts, through tears of her own. "Shelke does not cry. But he somehow made her cry. Explain this to me, please. Or better yet, just shoot the damn bastard. Lemme do it! I want to pull that trigger and lodge a bullet in his brain and watch his visceral fluid slowly seep out of the entrance wound and – "

"Out. Now."

Vincent does not mince words.

"I'm going, I'm going," Reno all but yawns, as if this entire excursion was but of a mild annoyance for a Turk like him. "I was going to offer protective custody but – "

"We can protect her just fine, thank you very much."

"Wow, Vinnie – I've never heard you say thank you before."

"Yuffie. Now is not the time."

"Okay, have it your way," Reno says, in tandem with another prolonged sigh of ennui. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"We won't," Vincent assures him.

"Neither will I. Asshole."

Yuffie throws in that last part in for good measure.

"Yes, I'm sure she's in very capable hands – seeing as though you couldn't even stop the likes of me. And I announced my visit."

"Just . . . shut up," Yuffie mutters.

(A first, to be sure, for she doesn't mutter much.)

Reno finally takes his leave, without so much as goodbye, which leaves the remaining two standing around awkwardly in the kitchen.

"Go check on Shelke," Vincent orders. "Do that estranged social bonding thing you do. Make her feel better."

"Vinnie, I'm pretty sure she wants me dead."

"She does have ears, Yuffie. You were yelling loud enough to be heard inside a coffin."

o-o-o-o

"Shelkster?"

Yuffie tries to mitigate her knocking, even though she is boiling on the inside.

"Shelke, I'm gonna come in the room, alright? Please don't kill me. I was just kidding about your weapon being rendered useless because of fire extinguishers. I don't want either one of them lodged up my fine Wutai ass. We good on this?"

There is another prolonged silence.

And then Yuffie's words are finally reciprocated.

"I won't vanquish you, if that is what you are getting at."

"That's . . . good to know," Yuffie decides to herself, still hesitating at the threshold.

"Can you not navigate door knobs when under emotional duress?"

"No, Shelke, I can't open a frickin' door. That's _exactly_ what this is all about."

"Well then, you have my permission to enter whenever you deem fit."

Yuffie can't hold back anymore and finally tears open the door with more strength than her sinewy arms suggest.

"I swear! It wasn't me, Shelke. It wasn't! I had _no_ idea – "

"Do you think me moronic? Of course I know it wasn't you. That ruse was far too clever."

"I – wait, what did you just say? Did you just insult me? I mean, really Shelke, I was ready to spill blood for you back there."

"So I heard."

Yuffie, unable to find anything worth while to do with her herself and corresponding nervous energy, decides to sit at the foot of Shelke's bed and sigh.

"Are you . . . alright? Should I get you a cookie or something?"

"How would a cookie help to ameliorate my current disposition?"

"It wouldn't. But I thought I'd at least offer."

"I suppose a display of gratitude is in order."

"Not necessarily."

"That seems advantageous, then, seeing as though I would like to retire for the evening."

"Yeah, it's no longer breakfast. It's, like, half past dinner. We can only have deep discussions over breakfast."

Yuffie meant this sarcastically, but Shelke takes it literally. Go figure.

"Leave me," Shelke finally requests.

Yuffie opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, and opts for departure.

But not before she sees the crumpled note card in the wastebasket.

It may have been torn and ravished, but it was still legible.

It clearly said: NERO

o-o-o-o

Author's Note

I never thought the day would come where I'd try to integrate plot into this story. But there you have it. Looks like I'm gonna run with it. XD

Dedicated To

Za Za and Distant Glory (aka: The Former Reading Chick)

You mean more to me than you know

Thank you so much for all the reviews and support!


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